


Whatever you need

by UnproblematicMe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bratty Sub Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dark Crowley (Good Omens), Dominant Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Manipulation, Insecurity, Jealousy, Mention of noncon, Other, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Rough Sex, Safeword Use, Safewords, Submissive Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sweet Crowley (Good Omens), Tender Sex, Top Crowley (Good Omens), dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-12 18:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 66,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21481141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnproblematicMe/pseuds/UnproblematicMe
Summary: Supposed to be enemies, Aziraphale and Crowley are drawn to each other throughout the centuries. Crowley is there for Aziraphale when he needs him and the angel is determined to repay in kind. No matter what Crowley needs, Aziraphale is willing to give it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 422
Kudos: 757
Collections: Courts GO Re-Reads, Dark Crowley, Tip Top Stories





	1. Tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the tags say Sweet Crowley and Dark Crowley. Well, he is both, isn't he? ;)

The first time they slept with each other was around 33 AD, a few days after the death of Jesus Christ. Aziraphale felt alone in his grief and sympathy for one of the best men to have ever walked this Earth. Gabriel had just patted his back and congratulated him on a job well done. But Aziraphale did not feel like he had done much. A word of comfort here, an encouraging smile there. Even though he told himself that maybe it had made a difference in the heart of the man in question, he knew that the story was told long before the Holy Child had been born and his deeds or lack thereof had never had any influence. But he suspected Gabriel would always congratulate on a job well done as long as nothing was notably messed up. And to be notable for Gabriel something had to be seriously messed up since the pompous Archangel knew close to nothing about Earth and humans.

So one - in his own opinion undeserved - commendation for Aziraphale. Despite or probably more because of that, he spent the days after the crucifixion in his tavern room and dwelled on spilled milk as the saying goes. It would forever strike Aziraphale as ironic that despite all the angels that were around these days, it was a demon who would knock on his door to make sure he was alright.

Not expecting any visitors, Aziraphale carefully opened the door and was surprised to look into the golden eyes of Crawly, now Crowley. Those beautiful snake-like eyes that had captured him back in the garden already.

Those eyes made no sense, like the whole demon made no sense. Aziraphale had been told that demons were ugly, cruel, dishonest and evil. Crowley was beautiful not ugly. He showed compassion and empathy often so he was not cruel. Of course that still left dishonest and evil. Maybe the demon was just tricking him, luring him in a false sense of security. So Aziraphale was vigilant. Usually. Right now he was just tired and vulnerable. That’s why it did not even occur to him that the regretful expression on Crowley’s handsome features could be a ruse.

“Good evening,” Crowley said in his silky voice.

“Hello, Cra…Crowley,” Aziraphale answered quietly. “What brings you here?”

“I wanted to apologize. May I come in?”

A tiny voice in Aziraphale’s head told him that it was weird for a demon to apologize for anything since they were not supposed to feel regret. But Aziraphale was too exhausted to care. What did tiny voices in his head know anyway?

He gestured Crowley to come in. Miraculously a second chair appeared next to the fireplace. The fireplace that would not have been here without a miracle either.

“Wine?” Aziraphale asked stoically while pointing on the new chair.

“Yes, please,” Crowley said, right eyebrow raised, and sat down.

While Aziraphale poured two cups of wine of much better quality than usually found in this kind of tavern, he could feel Crowley’s gaze on him. It should have made him wary, should have brought his defenses up. Instead it just made him feel seen. The last time he had felt truly seen by someone had been when God had asked him about the whereabouts of his flaming sword. Since then nobody had really looked at him.

Aziraphale handed Crowley one of the cups with a polite but tired smile and said, “Here you go, my dear! So, what exactly do you feel the need to apologize for?”

“For what I said at Golgotha,” Crowley answered, nipping his wine. “Hmm, that’s good.”

“I cannot recall anything that requires an apology,” said Aziraphale confused. “You were right. My people put the poor man up there.”

“Yes, but not you! I saw that you were pretty upset and I knew that my words would sting. And I wanted them to because I was so mad.” Crowley sighed heavily. “I was angry because of the whole ‘sacrifice the lamb’ thing. But I was angry with Heaven, the… the higher-ups and I took it out on you. That was not okay. You’re not like them. You’re the last angel to deserve my bullshit.”

“It’s forgiven,” smiled Aziraphale. “You needed an outlet.”

Crowley stared into his glass and murmured, “Yes, I guess. But still, there were other angels around, but I knew I couldn’t hurt them with my words. So I went for the one angel that I know has a heart.”

“I said it’s forgiven,” Aziraphale insisted. “I appreciate your visit. Are you hungry? I could…”

“No, I don’t want to be a bother,” Crowley hurried to say. “I won’t keep you.”

Crowley got up and was about to leave, but Aziraphale blocked the door.

“You’re not a bother, dear. I would not mind if you stayed for another cup of wine.”

That was what he said with words. His look however added, _Actually I’m begging you to stay, to talk to me, to fill that horrible, horrible silence with your voice and keep the shadows away just for a little longer._

Crowley saw all that and Aziraphale could only hope the demon would not really make him beg because he would have if needed. But Crowley just smiled and nodded.

“If you really don’t mind,” he said. “I’ll hog your attention a little longer, angel.”

‘Angel’. It should have sounded like an insult from the mouth of a demon, but it sounded tender and soft and Aziraphale longed to hear it again.

A cup of wine became two, two cups became a jug, a jug became two and ‘a little longer’ became long after midnight.

Together they wallowed in shared memories and told each other what they had done while being apart. They told each other of their fears and regrets. Crowley was a good listener and so was Aziraphale. Tonight they were for each other what their brethren could not be. None of them said it and none of them had to.

They had not been sitting on their chairs for an hour now. Having talked away all their pain, they now were huddled together on the rug in front of the fireplace and chattered and laughed. At that very moment tilting his head to plant his lips on Crowley’s seemed like the only logical course of action. And so Aziraphale did.

Crowley’s lips were warm and soft and the surprised noise he made was adorable. This only made the disappointment worse when Aziraphale felt Crowley’s strong hands on his shoulders that pushed him back.

“Stop, angel!” Crowley spoke, voice heavy with wine.

“I… I’m sorry, dear!” Aziraphale hurried to say. “I don’t know what came over me. I won’t do it again. Please don’t go!”

“Go?” Crowley asked in a teasing tone. “I’d be pretty stupid to go now, wouldn’t I? With regard to that interesting development.”

“So you…? What?” Aziraphale slurred. He had trouble following Crowley’s words.

“Miracle time!” the demon announced. “Get the wine out of your system before we go any further. Want nobody to say I took advantage of a drunk angel.”

“B… but wouldn’t that be truly demonic?” giggled Aziraphale.

“I suppose, but I’m not working right now,” Crowley answered, still smiling but his expression serious.

“Al…alright,” Aziraphale hiccupped and miracled the alcohol out of his blood. He felt a hellish miracle right next to him, indicating Crowley did the same.

They both waited until the unpleasant taste on their tongues had worn off. Then Crowley got to his feet before helping Aziraphale up.

Grinning, but with a vulnerable look in his eyes Crowley looked down at Aziraphale, fingers under the others chin.

“So,” he said. “Now with a clearer mind: What are you in the mood for?”

Instead of giving a verbal answer, Aziraphale lifted himself on his toes and kissed Crowley again.

“Count me in, angel,” Crowley murmured against his lips with a smile and gently nudged Aziraphale towards the small bed.

Unlike Aziraphale Crowley had already manifested genitalia on several occasions. It helped with the whole temptation business he claimed and Aziraphale thought that made sense. It was easier than expected he thought while fascinated switching between the Eve and Adam constellation.[1]

“So what’s it gonna be, Aziraphale?” Crowley laughed after he had been watching for a while. “I can work with both.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” sighed Aziraphale. “You decide.”

Aziraphale felt a shiver go through Crowley’s body at these words.

“Really?” Crowley whispered.

“Ehm, yes?”

“Oh, angel!” Crowley growled and pointed at the half-hard penis between Aziraphale’s legs. “Keep that! For now!”

*

Aziraphale had heard people talk about the sexual act as “like Heaven”, but thanks to his firsthand information, he knew better. Never in Heaven had he felt as safe and protected as now in Crowley’s arms. Nothing in Heaven had ever made him feel as treasured as Crowley’s kisses. And nobody in Heaven had ever made him feel such bliss like Crowley made him feel now with his clever mouth wrapped around his cock.[2]

The demon’s lips and forked tongue worked their magic on Aziraphale’s hard length while the long dexterous fingers worked his tight hole open tenderly but efficiently.

Crowley let go of his member for a moment and said between ragged breaths, “I want you so badly, angel! I need you now!”

“Alright,” Aziraphale said nervously. “Just, just be careful, will you?”

“Of course!”

Crowley licked one last long stripe along Aziraphale’s penis before slowly removing his fingers from his opening. Kissing Aziraphale softly, he lined up his own cock with Aziraphale’s hole and they locked eyes.

Aziraphale bit his lip anxiously but nodded. With a pleasant sigh Crowley entered him carefully and slowly. Inch by inch he conquered the tight channel, his eyes never leaving Aziraphale’s. When he was fully sheathed, he kissed Aziraphale’s forehead softly and pulled back out almost completely, only his member’s head remaining past the entrance. Then he slid back in up to the hilt in one move.

Aziraphale gasped at the feeling. It was not painful but unfamiliar. After a few thrusts however, Crowley had found a pleasant rhythm and a very interesting spot inside Aziraphale that made the angel moan loudly. He blushed in embarrassment and put his hand over his own mouth to muffle the sounds he could not help escaping. But Crowley grabbed his wrist and pulled the hand away.

“Let me hear you, Aziraphale!” he demanded. “Don’t worry. I made sure nobody else will hear a thing.”

Again Aziraphale nodded. He gave himself to Crowley completely: Every move he made, each sound escaping him and all the pleasure he felt. Aziraphale trusted Crowley. By universal law it was madness for an angel to trust a demon, but how sweet was the reward for that madness.

Crowley moved inside him, hitting that wonderful spot again and again while whispering in Aziraphale’s ear how beautiful he was, how good he felt and how much he pleased Crowley. Aziraphale drowned in the overwhelming sensations and the sweet words.

He came untouched with a cry, desperately holding on to Crowley who was not far behind. Through the lovely fog of the afterglow he felt Crowley tucking him in and whisper to him how good he was. Smiling he fell asleep.

When he woke up, the blanket was much warmer than he remembered it to be[3], but that could not hide the fact that there was nothing where a warm body should have been.

Aziraphale sat up and looked around. Not surprised but a little disappointed, he found that Crowley had gone. However, he spotted a little note on the table. With effort he forced himself to go there and pick it up slowly and with some dignity instead of stumbling over like a lovesick sapling.

Smiling he read the words written in the most messy and beautiful handwriting he had ever seen: “Thanks for the lovely time, angel. Hope to see you around.”

Common sense was screaming at him to burn the message, but Aziraphale could not bring himself to do so. Blushing he folded the note neatly and put it carefully into his pouch. Even if it was dangerous to keep it, the night had been too special to destroy the only reminder he had.

That night in Jerusalem Crowley had been very careful with Aziraphale. For many nights to come, he was not.

[1] Or “cunt” and “cock” as Crowley called it, but that sounded a bit vulgar to Aziraphale’s ears.

[2] It sounded less vulgar with every second, Aziraphale had to admit.

[3] Almost miraculously so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading chapter 1!  
Leave a kudo or a comment. Share your thoughts with me because I am ever curious. ;)


	2. Provocation

Hearing the familiar voice a couple of years later made Aziraphale happier than he had ever been before. It drowned out every other noise in the tavern immediately and drew him in like a siren song.[4] A shudder went through his body as he remembered the lovely words Crowley had whispered into his ear while doing all those lovely things to him. He spotted the redhead at the counter. He was dressed in black, hiding his eyes behind shaded glasses and was wearing a wreath of silver laurels in his now short hair. Aziraphale already mourned the long flaming locks, but as ever Crowley was a stunning sight.

“Crawly? Crowley?” he asked happily.

Crowley turned to him. Aziraphale felt a little stab when Crowley was not as enthusiastic upon seeing him like the other way around. Trying to be optimistic, he told himself that Crowley probably was a little stressed. He most certainly looked like he was.

“Fancy meeting you here.” He took a seat next to Crowley and continued beaming at him. Crowley said nothing and nervousness urged Aziraphale to fill the silence.

“Still a demon then?” he blurted out and regretted it immediately.

He got a reaction from Crowley now, alright. But not a pleasant one. Crowley snapped at him and rightly so.

_What a stupid question!_ he scolded himself.

Aziraphale had not forgotten how Crowley had been there for him after Golgotha and so far he was not doing a very good job in returning the favor now that Crowley was the one who obviously needed some cheering up.

Determined not to give up, he tried for some light talk. Crowley was a little tightlipped about his reasons to be in Rome, but at least he gave back the question, giving Aziraphale more to talk about.

After learning that Crowley never in his existence had eaten an oyster, Aziraphale’s tongue slipped a second time and he said, “Well, let me tempt you to…” before remembering who he was talking to.

“No,” he quickly retreated. “That… that’s your job, isn’t it?”

Fortunately this seemed to amuse Crowley instead of angering him. His eyes locked on Aziraphale, he took a sip of his cheap wine and smiled.

“Oh, I don’t know, angel,” he answered in a velvety voice. “You sure have a knack for it, too.”

“I… I guess from your mouth that’s a compliment,” Aziraphale smiled back.

“It sure is,” Crowley nodded and asked: “So, where is that remarkable oyster place?”

Aziraphale’s smile became so wide that it hurt, but he could not help it.

Excitedly he led his demonic friend through the busy streets of Rome until they arrived at Petronius’ restaurant. The food was fantastic and for a time Crowley seemed to lighten up. They talked almost as uninhibited as in the inn room in Jerusalem, they drank, they ate and they laughed. But after a while Crowley grew restless. Aziraphale assumed that Crowley just had enough of people (his last temptation involved a nasty orgy attended by a lot of nasty people) and now that the day was ending, quite a lot of them visited the restaurant.

“Do you want to leave?” Aziraphale asked.

“Good idea!” Crowley said.

Before Aziraphale even had a chance to grab his pouch, Crowley had beaten him to it and put a generous amount of coins into the stunned Petronius’ hand.

Cool night air greeted them when they left the establishment. Aziraphale had not even noticed how warm it had become inside until the refreshing wind stroke along his heated cheeks. But he was not at all happy with Crowley paying for their food.

“_I_ invited _you,_” he pouted.

“Ah-ah! You tempted me,” Crowley corrected with a grin. “Serves me right to lose my money for giving into it.”

“But…”

Crowley stopped walking and turned to Aziraphale. He winked at the angel and gave him a cocky smile that made Aziraphale’s knees go weak.

“Don’t you worry about that, angel,” he grinned. “I told my head office that I needed tons of money for that job. They have no understanding of currency anyway.”

“So how much did you actually need?”

“Ehm, nothing. Consider me a rich man that can afford inviting cute angels to oysters as much as he likes.”

Aziraphale blushed profusely at that. Quickly he turned away and muttered, “One would think Hell expects its agents to lie.”

“You’re overestimating them. A lot!”

Chatting idly they made their way to Aziraphale’s abode. After arriving there, they sat down on the bed and once more they shared some wine, but not as much as the last time. Tonight Aziraphale was not drunk, he had just enough to be content with the world. Crowley however seemed to become twitchy again after a while. Nervously he ran his fingers through his flaming red hair, could not keep his legs still and ever so often glanced at his feet. Only he did not really glance at his feet. Excitedly Aziraphale noticed the bulge underneath Crowley’s toga. The demon tried hiding it with his legs and arms. To no avail.

Biting his lip, Aziraphale moved a little closer, hoping to finally be able to give Crowley what he needed. But the moment his right thigh touched Crowley’s left, the demon jumped up from the bed like it was dosed in Holy Water.

“Crowley?”

“Sorry, Aziraphale, I need to go.”

Gathering all his courage, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s arm and shyly pointed at the tent of the black toga Crowley failed in hiding.

“I thought… I might… help you with that?” he said, blushing.

“I’ll be fine!” Crowley said to his surprise and turned to leave.

“What? How?” Aziraphale laughed nervously. “Are you planning to go to a brothel?”

Crowley looked downwards and Aziraphale’s face fell.

“Good lord,” he whispered. “You _are_ planning to go to a brothel.”

Feeling miserable, he fell back down to sit on the bed again.

“I apologize,” he said quietly. “I won’t keep you.”

Crowley did not move.

“You… you take that way too personally,” he finally sighed.

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale said incredulously. “I basically offered myself to you tonight. But you prefer to pay a complete stranger to have sex with you.”

“You’re just not what I need at the moment!” Crowley interrupted.

Dumbfounded Aziraphale let his mouth drop open. Glaring daggers at Crowley, he stood up and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Yes, how stupid of me,” he stated sarcastically. “Why would I _ever_ take this personally?”

“Shit,” Crowly cursed. “That came out wrong.”

“Really? I think it’s exactly what you mean.” Aziraphale was surprised how calm his voice had become. “Why did you waste your time with me today, Crowley? If you don’t want me?”

“For Satan’s sake, angel! I do want you!” Crowley claimed. “It’s just… The last few days have been very frustrating. Very! I thought I could… with you. But this city… everything reminded me of… And I understood that I could not… and you are, well, you and…”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale interrupted him impatiently. “You can start making sense any time now!”

Crowley sighed.

“Look, I need an outlet. I need to work out all my tension,” he explained. “When you showed up, being your enticing self, I wanted to have sex with you, really. But during our time together today I noticed that I am too frustrated, I couldn’t be gentle tonight.”

Aziraphale blinked.

“Then don’t be,” he said without hesitation.

“What?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

Relief flooded Aziraphale. Crowley’s explanation was like a tidal wave that washed away all the insecurities that had piled up in front of him during the last minutes. Crowley did not find him appalling. Crowley wanted him. Crowley had been just what he needed and Aziraphale would give that back now.

“You heard me,” he said. “You can’t be gentle, so don’t be.”

“Ehm, Aziraphale,” Crowley smiled almost softly. “I was there that night in Jerusalem, remember? You… need a tender touch, angel. And that’s fine. We’re not all alike.”

“That was the first time ever I had sex, Crowley!” Aziraphale said offended. “Of course I was a bit nervous.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, I see! And how many times have you done this since then?” Crowley’s tone was mocking, but there was something else in his eyes that Aziraphale could not identify.

“Well, I haven’t done it since then,” Aziraphale admitted and saw Crowley relax. “But I know now what to expect.”

“No, you don’t!”

“Will the ‘lucky’ woman in the brothel know?”

“Different thing! She gets paid to take whatever I dish out.”

“Unlike her, I know you’re a demon.”

“Unlike you, she is not immune against having her memories erased.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said exasperated. “I won’t break! I’m not some fragile thing!”

“No,” Crowley shook his head. “I could be dangerous, I…what are you doing?”

Aziraphale did not answer. He pressed his body against Crowley’s and pulled his stunned friend down into a kiss. Taking advantage of Crowley’s surprised gasp, he slipped his tongue inside the other’s mouth and started exploring. It did not take long for the bulge underneath Crowley’s clothes to grow. Aziraphale felt his counterpart’s resolution weaken as the long slender fingers started gripping his hair while Crowley slowly took over dominance of the intense kiss. But just as Aziraphale wanted to let his hands wander down towards the prominent bulge forming between Crowley’s legs, Crowley pushed him away.

“No!” he said despite his widened pupils and the visible erection under his clothing. “You don’t know how I get. I’m leaving.”

But Aziraphale was not going to give up now. He was way better at provoking people than an angel had any business being proud of. So he usually did not make use of that skill. Tonight though he would. He grabbed Crowley’s hand.

“That’s the dangerous Crowley?” he asked in an astonished voice. “That’s what you protect me from?”

“Stop it, angel!” Crowley growled.

“Or what?”

“Or… I… you… Arrgh!” Crowley ripped his hand free and turned to leave once more.

“All talk, no substance,” Aziraphale sighed, looking at his nails with a bored expression, when Crowley reached for the door handle. “No wonder you got along so well with Lucifer…”

The next thing he knew was that he was lying face first on the bed, the weight of Crowley’s body holding him down, his wrists pinned by Crowley’s right hand while the demon’s left painfully grabbed his hair to pull his head back.

“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” Crowley hissed in his ear.

“Well, I…” Aziraphale started to speak.

“Quod erat demonstrandum,” Crowley sighed.

Then he gripped Aziraphale’s hair even tighter and sank his teeth into the sensitive throat. Aziraphale whimpered and started to struggle but could not deny the pleasure lying underneath the pain. Crowley’s huge erection pressed against his arse cheeks. Aziraphale remembered his friend being well endowed, but had he always been _that_ big?

“A cunt, angel, now!” Crowley commanded and after a moment he growled: “I don’t feel you using your powers.”

Aziraphale blushed, “I already have one…”

“Isn’t that interesting?” Crowley purred.

Suddenly Aziraphale was grabbed and spun around. He could not hold in the gasp at the sight that awaited him.

He had never seen Crowley look so demonic before – or so angelic. The huge black wings filled the room behind them almost completely and the tips of the shiny feathers brushed along walls and furniture. His snake-like eyes - bare of any white – glowed in a rich gold around his blown-out pupils. Shining scales of red and black rippled along his shoulders, his neck and his biceps. The human skin was flawless and soft. Crowley’s whole body was very warm but his erection pressed hot against Aziraphale’s thighs.

Roughly the demon grabbed Aziraphale’s thighs, his nails digging into the flesh, leaving angry red marks on milky white skin. He spread Aziraphale’s legs and wasted no time to dip his fingers into the blossoming wetness. Aggressively he flicked his thumb across the clit while his middle finger circled around the tight opening.

“So wet and eager already,” he said. “You couldn’t wait, hmmm?”

Aziraphale could not deny that Crowley’s current form and behavior intimidated him, but there was no going back now. So he would show Crowley that he was not afraid and could take whatever Crowley had in store for him.

“Oh, I can wait, Crowley,” he said sweetly. “Actually I do wait right now because it seems the oh so dangerous demon in my bed is still not done talking.”

The effect was instantenous. Crowley growled and covered Aziraphale’s body with his own. He grabbed the angel’s wrists and pinned them on the mattress on eye level. Violently his slender but strong legs pressed between Aziraphale’s, shoving them further apart. His cock was nudging at Aziraphale’s wet entrance while he possessively licked along the white throat beneath him.

“You little sassy minx,” he whispered. “I’m gonna make you my whore, I’m gonna make you beg for mercy and I am gonna make you scream my name. And when finally my name is the only word you remember, there won’t be any more backtalk.”

Whatever feisty comeback was dancing on Aziraphale’s tongue, was lost to history. Before he could say anything, Crowley pushed in. He gave Aziraphale no time to adjust to his impressive length and girth but just slid home in one move. With use of his hips and his wings he created a punishing pace as he drove into the helpless body beneath him. Aziraphale felt bruises forming on his inner thighs as well as on his still pinned wrists.

After a while Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s lower arms and Aziraphale immediately took the chance to circle them around Crowley’s neck and grab the red curls of the demon above him. Answering in kind the fingers of Crowley’s right hand tangled into Aziraphale’s hair and pulled him in for an open-mouthed kiss that was all teeth and tongue and anything but tender. Braced on his left arm Crowley changed the angle to thrust deeper into Aziraphale and just as his tongue claimed Aziraphale‘s mouth, his cock claimed the tight wet channel of the angel’s cunt.

Crowley moaned loudly and it became clear that with his deep and vicious thrusts he was chasing only his own satisfaction. But Aziraphale found a dark delight in this selfishness. The demon grabbed and bit at his tender flesh and the angel allowed him to take him, to use him.

Caught in that web of pain and pleasure while Crowley marked his body all over, Aziraphale finally felt a familiar warmth pool in his lower body. It was similar to last time but still different. He clung to Crowley and wailed when he climaxed, his cunt pulsating around Crowley’s hard member. This spurred Crowley on further and his movements became frantic. He came with a roar, head and wings thrown back while he spilled his hot seed into Aziraphale’s pliant body.

*

Crowley dressed himself, grinning down at the sleeping angel. After one last satisfied and possessive look at the marks he had left, he carefully put the blanket on him.

What a rather interesting day that had been. The cute angel was pretty smart but also pretty gullible. Easy prey. Crowley had really, really, really wanted to let the sweet thing off the hook for last night. Find someone else to let out some steam. But then the little bastard had provoked him into losing control.

He pressed a light kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead and whispered, “Looks like you really can take it. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Like the last time he left a note for the angel. With a smirk he also put down his silver laurels on the small table. He was sure the angel would eat up such a “meaningful gesture”.

He had to admit that there lay a greater satisfaction in having this done with Aziraphale – or better _to_ Aziraphale. Before leaving he would have to wipe out a human lover’s memory and heal their wounds. Healing was not exactly in a demon’s nature and took a lot out of him. In addition it was a nice thought to have Aziraphale carry those reminders. Sure, most of them the angel could heal himself, but in some of the bite marks Crowley had – in the heat of the moment, of course – left some of his venom. The little principality would have trouble to miracle those away and Crowley would love to be around to see his face upon noticing that.

But that would not be a good idea. Sure, they could have quite a bit of fun, but spending too much time in each other’s company could get them both a lot of unwanted attention. Crowley would, however, need to put a couple of people on Aziraphale. Naïve as he was, he might stumble into all kinds of trouble. Crowley had human agents with magic abilities at hand who could do that until he had found a permanent but discreet spell or something similar to do that. Just to keep an eye on Aziraphale. It would not do if someone broke his new favorite toy.

[4] Then again, not. Because as an angel he was immune to any influence by magical music. Immune to Crowley he was definitely not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading Chapter 2!  
Not sure I can keep the 3 chapter goal to wrap this up. It could end up at 5.


	3. Impatience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short note: I’m no historian. If there are historical flaws in the show (or the book for that matter), I wouldn’t notice. Nor would I care. In the Good Omens universe the world is a little over 6000 years old, dinosaur skeletons are nothing but a prank God played on the scientists and in the end witches, demons and angels fight against and/or with each other about the fate of the Earth. So maybe we can agree that the Good Omens universe is different enough from ours that their younger history is not exactly like ours, too. So if I use flawed facts from the show or the book or use my own flawed facts, we all have to deal with that.

Earth was amazing! Especially compared to Heaven. Admittedly, Heaven was full of love, peace and harmony, but often exactly that was the problem. It was not very interesting after a while. Earth was a place full of life, full of novelties, full of beautiful contradictions. Of course it had its downsides, too, and often humanity’s dark aspects in particular made Aziraphale hurt. There was no place in the universe he would rather be than here among humans. But often the cruelty they were capable of left his heart to bleed.

Which made him all the more grateful for Crowley and his company. He had encountered other demons. Often brutes, not very clever and easy to thwart. Crowley was a better adversary, a greater challenge. Crowley did not resort to violence or unnecessary cruelty. He was a patient observer who waited for a chance to push someone in the right, well, the wrong direction. Winning against Crowley was much harder since he was difficult to read, his actions almost impossible to predict. He had a way of letting the humans do his job for him. Both, angel and demon, rarely claimed victories against the other, very often they walked out of a competition in a stale mate. And never did one begrudge the other any success.

Aziraphale was convinced God had no objections against him spending time with Crowley. After all She was omniscient and omnipotent. So unlike her dense Archangels She knew what Aziraphale was up to and was absolutely capable of doing something about it. But She didn’t. Oh, he was certain Gabriel, Michael and every single angel of high rank would have had something very colorful to say to his… tryst with Crowley. But he was not crazy enough to ask for their opinion. In Aziraphale’s greatest crisis so far, it had been Crowley to comfort him when all of his brethren did neither see his pain nor care for it. In a way the demon had been his guardian angel. Another beautiful irony only Earth had to offer.

Outside of work they met not as often as Aziraphale would like, but once a decade, sometimes even more often, he would notice the seductive scent and hear the smooth voice call out his name. They would go for walks, discuss certain events, share information and Crowley would invite him to wine and food. It was exactly what Aziraphale needed. And he yearned to repay Crowley’s kindness by being what Crowley needed in the nights that followed these days.

As much as he enjoyed the days, as soon as the sun set, he could not wait for the brush of Crowley’s hand along his neck accompanied by that sparkle in his golden eyes. Aziraphale would only nod and Crowley would pay whatever bill was to pay, take Aziraphale’s hand and drag him to whatever place Aziraphale was staying at.[5]

As soon as the door was locked behind them, Crowley would drop the peaceful façade and push Aziraphale against the door. Between bruising kisses he would tell Aziraphale to make an effort, to undress and get on the bed. Aziraphale would obey and Crowley would have his way with him.

Aziraphale loved those nights. But with each passing year he started to dread the mornings. There would always be a note, always be a little present, but Crowley would be gone. But that was how things were. Right?

*

Earth was alright. Especially compared to Hell. Sure, everything was alright compared to Hell, but Earth really was a place one could get used to. In fact, Crowley _had_ gotten used to it. There was wine, food, music and sex. Not that these things did not exist in hell. But food and drink that appeared there within seconds tasted of Sulphur (if you were lucky), music was nothing but a torturous chain of disharmonic sounds and sex, well, sex was not even that bad in hell but involved making yourself vulnerable to another demon and that was a stupid thing to do.

Being able to indulge in sex on Earth without having to expect any direct or indirect consequences had been an epiphany. Unfortunately after having Aziraphale, Crowley compared all lovers to the angel. That sweet, pretty angel with the luscious body, the soft blond hair and the flawless snow white skin. That obedient pliant angel that would take everything Crowley had to give. Humans just could not live up to that, no matter how hard they tried. And boy, did they try. Crowley really could congratulate himself on his choice of vessel. He was aware of the fact that he was attractive to those who liked men and with some temporary alterations to his body he made an attractive woman, too. But usually he preferred his male form. The way he was treated as a women made it hard for him not to incinerate his conversational partners. And killing them before they sold their souls, ruined every deal.[6]

Usually he preferred using the domino effect anyway. Leading more than one soul to the crossroads and let them choose for themselves. Of course he lost some of them because they chose the righteous path, but a fair share of them always took the sinister road. And when they did so of their free will without being manipulated or even forced, it counted all the more.

Crowley had to admit that Aziraphale over the centuries had turned out to be a smarter opponent than he had anticipated. It would have hurt his demonic pride to draw even most of the time, had he not seen other demons fail miserably against Aziraphale. That had been an interesting conversation in hell.

_“Be honest with me, guys”, Beelzebub said. “Are you all dumb as shit or is this angel a fucking genius?”_

_“Well, he seems to be pretty smart…” The broad shouldered dark blond demon to Crowley’s left started to speak._

_“Rhetorical question, Xanos!” Beelzebub growled and took a deep unnecessary breath before continuing: “The only one of half a dozen demons in Europe that was not a complete disaster was Crowley… and don’t look so smug, Crowley, you weren’t exactly doing great either!”_

_“And still, Satan gifted me a magical short sword just last week and said ‘great job, Crowley’. Weird, isn’t it?” Crowley said, pursing his lips to hide the smirk._

_“You have no idea how weird I think that is, Crowley,” Beelzebub sighed. “But that’s not the point right now. What do we do with that angel?”_

_Alarmed Crowley looked up. Aziraphale was clever, but when the Prince of Hell herself decided to want him eliminated, he might have a hard time to survive that._

_“Just leave him to me,” he tried to sound casual and indifferent. “Keep those pea brains out of my way,” he gestured over the other demons, “and I got this.”_

_“Wait a minute, Crawly…” Xanos began._

_“It’s Crowley!”_

_“…, it’s not that you’re always victorious against him.”_

_“Yeah, that’s Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil for you,” Crowley said. “Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes a little bit of both. Unless you’re an idiot – then you always lose.”_

_Xanos stood up and loomed over Crowley in full height._

_“Listen, snake, if you’re looking for a fight…,”_

_“Crowley has a point,” Dagon suddenly made her presence known. _

_Crowley raised his eyebrow in surprise. Dagon usually was not on his side. Beelzebub was no less astonished by that turn of the conversation._

_“Has he now?” she asked._

_“He can at least hold his ground against this angel. The others can’t. And sending too many people doesn’t sit right with me anyway. It will only provoke Heaven to do the same.”_

_“What if we just…”_

_“Kill the angel, Xanos?” Dagon sighed. “Great idea! Because we all need a bunch of vengeful Archangels rampaging through Europe!”_

_Crowley grinned. Dagon was a bitch but a clever one and having her on his side was nice for a change. She was the one demon Beelzebub trusted completely so it came to no surprise that the Prince followed her advice. _

_“Thanks for your support,” he purred in Dagon’s ear when they walked down the narrow hallway leading away from the conference room._

_“Save your charms for the stupid, Crowley,” she sighed. “I didn’t do this for you but for Be…, for Hell. I hate you, but I’m not stupid enough to let your talents go to waste because of that. Your achievements aren’t bad and it would be unwise to risk what we have with blind activism. We need a good and most of all intelligent strategy if we want to have a chance in the final battle.”_

_“Right, the final battle,” Crowley frowned. “Thanks anyway.”_

_“Whatever,” she said with a shrug. “Now let’s talk about why exactly you need a castle and a chest of gold for that assignment in Britain. And apparently a trainable squirrel?”_

Crowley sighed. That was the downside of Dagon’s support. Now it was her he reported back to and while she was willing to indulge him now and then as long as he got the job done, she actually checked if he really needed what he asked for. Luckily he had always been reasonable in the past so he was sitting on a nice fortune that grew with time.

Still he knew that would not help him forever. Dagon’s words had reminded him of that. As long as Hell was content with his achievements they would leave him alone here on Earth until… yes, until the end of time. And since he neither wanted to be killed by an angel in the final battle nor wished to live on an Earth that was ruled by Hell, he needed to cut ties with Hell. That of course was something one could not do with a simple letter of resignation and a polite “it’s been a pleasure working with you, but I’m looking for new challenges in my life”.

He was not delusional enough to think he could become an angel again. Not that he wanted to. No, he wanted to be free from Heaven and Hell, enjoy life on Earth as long as it existed and go off into the stars or to another dimension when it ended.

That would need some serious magic. Nothing Heaven or Hell possessed or ever had heard of. Both sides tended to underestimate humans and especially witches. Some of the clever ladies had actually developed a very powerful spell that could free a human soul from any claim Hell had on it. It could not be impossible to vary this spell so it worked on another kind of entity. Unfortunately – against all rumors – witches were not too fond of demons. It had been hard enough to find one desperate enough to share some secrets with him in exchange for his help. Getting one to help him create _new_ spells based on existing ones, was close to impossible. But maybe someone else would have the brains and the knowledge to figure it out. Maybe a certain cute bookish angel he knew.

Speaking of Aziraphale. Where was that angel? His informants were slacking. Okay, maybe that was on him. Humans were mortal which was not their fault, but it led to Crowley having to instruct new agents every few decades. It was possible that his orders were not as precise and his descriptions were not as thorough as they used to be. He could of course ask Dagon to have a lower demon spy on Aziraphale since keeping an eye on the enemy was definitely justifiable. That would however come with the problem of getting rid of said demon when he wanted to have some fun with Aziraphale.

Fortunately he had found the magic needed to keep track of Aziraphale himself. But to make it work he needed to find Aziraphale the old fashioned way one last time. His informants were sure he had to be in Rome again, somewhere. Of course he was. With the christians being persecuted in Rome it was the perfect place to protect the faithful – and get himself killed in the process. Focusing on Aziraphale’s very own angelic signature, Crowley walked through Rome until he finally picked something up. He followed the trail to a middle class area and before he saw Aziraphale, he heard his voice.

“...so you see these people are no threat for you, you should reconsider arresting them.” Aziraphale told four heavy armed guards. “Maybe you should just leave and never talk about this again.”

“You know, this really makes sense,” said one of the men.

The other three nodded, clapped Aziraphale’s shoulder and left.

Breathing out heavily Aziraphale fell against the wall behind him. He wanted to rush inside the building, but Crowley called after him.

“Crowley!” Despite being obviously distressed, Aziraphale beamed at Crowley. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know me,” Crowley said. “Could never resist the sin seeping out of a city as big as that.”

“Well, I’m very happy to see you,” smiled Aziraphale. “But right now I am very busy. Will you still be here in… let’s say a week?”

With effort Crowley kept his face from falling. Being honest he had nowhere else to be, so he could still be here in a week, but he did not like that Aziraphale wanted to keep him waiting. He really liked the fact that Aziraphale was at his beck and call whenever they met.

“Oh, I’m not sure, angel,” he lied. “How about you and me find a nice place to eat and drink and… talk a bit?”

He smirked and let his finger glide along Aziraphale’s biceps. Aziraphale blushed and smiled lightly, but Crowley could see that his decision did not waver at all.

“Oh, I’d love to, dear,” he answered regretfully. “But you see, I need to protect this family!”

“Yes, I heard you. You brainwashed the guards!” Crowley said, barely hiding his flaring anger over Aziraphale denying him.

“Oh no, I did not brainwash them,” Aziraphale insisted. “I’m not allowed to do that. I used a miracle that increases my power of persuasion and one that strengthens any compassion and empathy that is in their heart. In a few days it will fade out and then their feeling of duty, their fear of their superiors, basically anything that might outweigh their sympathy for those people, will return.”

“Well, _I _am allowed to brainwash. Let me wipe those guards’ memories and...”

“A malevolent neighbor gave a hint, other guards will come sooner or later for those poor people!” Aziraphale shook his head.

“Let me guess,” Crowley sighed. “You’re not allowed to speed their escape up with miracles?”

“I need to get them out of here,” muttered Aziraphale, infuriatingly more to himself than to Crowley. “They will want to take most of their belongings with them, so I need a carriage. Where to get one fast and discreet? They’ll need money to start new somewhere else, but even if they’re willing to sell some jewelry or something like that, how to do that fast and still profitable?”

Being denied was bad enough, being ignored by his little toy was unbearable and Crowley felt like setting Rome on fire. But that would not help getting Aziraphale to do what Crowley wanted. So Crowley excused himself for a moment, went around the corner, used a veiling miracle and willed a horse carriage into existence. It was a common way of transportation and even Dagon would not question it, should she happen to see it. Now he transported a pouch full of gold, taken from his personal savings, into his hand and returned to the house.

Then he stomped uninvited into the family’s home and told the father: “Take my carriage and these coins. Leave Rome to the west now!”

“Crowley?”

“No time, Aziraphale,” said Crowley. “To the west, trust me, no guard will bother you this way.”

The family turned to Aziraphale and after a short moment, he nodded.

“You can trust him, he is a friend!” Aziraphale smiled and the family did as Crowley had said.

Aziraphale insisted to accompany the family until they had left the city behind and so angel and demon sat awkwardly between the three daughters in the back of the cart. The guards in the west part of the city indeed paid no mind to them since they were busy with the sudden spike of low grade crime and a minor riot in front of a theatre.

When the family had left Rome safely, Aziraphale smiled gratefully at Crowley.

“Oh, my dear!” he exclaimed. “That was so kind of you. How can I repay you?”

He asked that last question so coyly that Crowley could not help but chuckle. Lifting Aziraphale’s chin up with his finger, he smiled.

“I might have one or two ideas, angel!”

*

Sinking his fingers into Aziraphale’s pearly white wings while taking him from behind was a sweet victory after that day.

“Do you regret making me wait, angel?” Crowley growled in Aziraphale’s ear, breathless from his own hard and vicious thrusts into Aziraphale's tight arse. “Wish you’d come immediately instead of making. This. So. Much. Harder. On. Yourself?”

“I – ahh – appreciate yo-our concern,” Aziraphale pressed out between ragged breaths. “But I’m fine.”

“You little...” Crowley interrupted his own slur by driving down towards Aziraphale’s neck to once again leave a mark on the tender flesh. The moment his teeth sank in, Aziraphale cried out and Crowley felt Aziraphale tighten around him. Surprised by the sudden sensation, he lost control and – with his fangs still in Aziraphale’s throat – he climaxed.

Breathing heavily he rolled off Aziraphale and landed beside him on the mattress.

Weakly Aziraphale murmured, “Crowley, dear…,” before falling asleep at once – Crowley had made sure of that. Aziraphale always slept tight after their encounters, but it was crucial that he did not wake up tonight.

Carefully but without hesitation Crowley plucked one of the white feathers from the angel’s right wing and took it to the writing desk near the window. The witch had insisted it was important that the caster saw the stars while performing the spell and he did not want to take any risks. Crowley gathered the ingredients she had given to him on the table and started applying them to the feather. The liquid components soaked it, but after Crowley had spoken the words, the white plume glowed for a second and, when the light faded, looked like nothing had ever happened to it.

Crowley stood before the bed and let go off the feather. It levitated in the air for a moment before slowly dancing above the mattress towards Aziraphale’s right wing where it softly floated down and melted back into the plumage like it had never been away.

“And don’t you ever dare to fall out,” Crowley growled at it. Carefully he stroke along Aziraphale’s spine, causing the wings to disappear from the physical plane, and covered him with the blanket.

Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s bruised neck and left.

After having walked a few steps, he closed his eyes and focused. When he felt a light tingling in his body, he looked around and sure enough saw a faintly glowing white line leading from his own feet directly to the second level of the tavern Aziraphale was sleeping in right now. Yes, now he would be able to find his angel without any help.

A self-satisfied smirk appeared on Crowley’s face.

“Until the next time, angel!” he spoke into the night before disappearing in the streets of Rome.

[5] Sometimes Aziraphale wondered how Crowley always knew where Aziraphale took residence, but he never asked.

[6] 80% of Hastur’s failures were due to his short temper combined with his pyromanic tendencies (Dagon kept track of that).


	4. Defiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giving up on estimating how many chapters this will have. I'm sorry. We will have to wait and see. ;)

_“That is all?”_

_“Yes, sorry, angel. That’s what he said – well, my phonetic transcription of it. No idea what kind of language that is.”_

_“Oh dear,…”_

_“I know it’s not much. But can you try?”_

_“I’ll do my best to find out what it means.”_

_“Since your worst would probably is better than _my_ best, I appreciate that.”_

_“Flatterer!”_

_“Just being honest, angel.”_

_“Why exactly where you transcripting a drunken druid’s vision?”_

_“Long story, boring story. Let’s do something fun instead!”_

For about two and a half centuries, Crowley’s life was good. His superiors left him free reign and were satisfied with his work. He was making slow but steady progress with his quest of freeing himself from hell. Until the final battle plenty of time was left and if the day would come, he would turn his back on this rock. His plans had changed in so far as he would take Aziraphale with him. Aziraphale was an interesting conversational partner and a good fuck. That was definitely better than spending eternity alone.

After those two and a half centuries, in 567 AD to be precise, Crowley’s patience was tested yet again. It was a cold damp day in Arthurian England and to his delight none other than his angel was walking into the trap he had set for the knight Arthur would send. He knew that Aziraphale was in this area, too, but it was a lucky coincidence he walked right into him. Crowley had wanted to talk to him anyway and this saved some time.

Of course he protected Aziraphale from his men. After sharing their respective quests with each other, they found that once again they were heading towards a draw. That was the perfect cue to make his proposal. Or so Crowley had thought. But it did not go as planned.

“No! We’re not having this conversation! Not another word!”

“Right.”

“Right!”

The stubborn angel left Crowley standing there between his confused followers and Crowley could only watch him, his servant and his horse being swallowed by the thick fog. It was not ideal to have himself be scolded in such manner in front of his men but that was a minor problem. He could stuff enough respect towards him back down their throats within seconds should that be necessary. The major problem was that his influence and power over Aziraphale were not as strong as he had thought. That was not only highly inconvenient and flared the anger inside his demonic soul. No, it also caused an unfamiliar sensation he could not really put his finger on. Whatever it was, it made him feel strangely vulnerable and so he pushed it aside.

While he had expected some cute fussy resistance, that outburst of indignation Aziraphale had shown, came as a surprise. Originally he had proposed a mutual non-aggression pact to save himself some time that would be better spend on researching, drinking and having fun. Now it was a matter of principle to show that little angel his place.

Good thing it was no problem to find him.

*

Somewhere near Camelot the sun cast its dying light over a little cottage by a small lake. The smoke ascending skywards from the slot spoke of the cozy fire dancing in the hearth. This was the place “Sir Aziraphale” sometimes retreated to when he needed some peace and quiet.[7]

Inside the smell of a fresh soup filled the air but the restless inhabitant was – unlike himself – not hungry at all. He was pacing around the cottage, accompanied by the barely comforting creaking of the wooden floor. He had left his armor and weapon at the castle – they were not doing much for him to feel less vulnerable anyway.

He had gone and ruined it. The best thing in his existence and he had ruined it! Aziraphale did not even know why he had snapped at Crowley so intensively. At least not exactly. Sure, Crowley’s proposal had taken him by surprise, but it had also fueled a fear he had successfully buried deep inside his mind for centuries now. Now it had broken free and overwhelmed him.

Actually an arrangement like Crowley proposed was not such a bad idea. Of course Aziraphale would never stand by idly when humans were put in harm’s way. But why step on each other’s toes when both of them staying away would have the same effect? It might even have led to Crowley spending more time with Aziraphale outside of work.

Aziraphale blinked away some tears. Not that it mattered now. With the way he had barked at Crowley, the demon would not want to spend _any _time with him at all.

Just as he had finished that devastating thought, he heard a knock on his door. Hesitantly he approached it and called out, “Hello?”

“It’s me, Aziraphale,” sounded Crowley’s voice against all odds from the outside.

Aziraphale opened the door immediately. At first he did not dare to meet Crowley’s eyes and stared at his feet. Only after gathering his all courage he lifted his gaze to look into the golden irises that were focused on him. Crowley’s hair had grown again and fell in long red curls on his shoulders. Simple dark linen had replaced the armor and the horrible black knight would look like a harmless commoner if not for the snake eyes.

“Hello,” Aziraphale repeated quietly.

Crowley only nodded.

“May I come in?” he asked like he had back then in a different lifetime in Jerusalem.

“Yes,” answered Aziraphale in a small voice.

Crowley entered the cottage and looked around. After he had closed and locked the door, Aziraphale opened his mouth to offer food and drink, but Crowley spoke first.

“You know, angel, I was wondering…,” said Crowley and snapped his fingers. The shadows thrown on the floor by the dancing fire came to life. In smoky but sturdy black tendrils they slithered along the wood, tangling around Aziraphale’s wrists and ankles. Before Aziraphale could even react, they had him in a tight grip pulled him towards the wall and kept him there.

“…who exactly you think you are,” Crowley continued in a menacing tone while stepping closer to his pinned counterpart. “Talking to me like that in front of my men.”

“Crowley, really, I…”

“Sshhh.” Crowley pressed his fingers against Aziraphale’s lips and growled: “For centuries now you willingly spread your legs for me, a demon I might add. And now you got the nerve to act all high and mighty like you’re somehow better than me?”

“Please, Crowley…”

“Whatever will I do about that?” asked Crowley, the fingers of his right hand curling around Aziraphale’s throat. “Because I think we can agree that I can’t just let that slide, right?”

*

Crowley stared into Aziraphale’s deep blue eyes. But neither saw he fear nor defiance. Looking at Aziraphale’s face closer, he saw traces of red around his slightly watery eyes. Had Aziraphale been crying before Crowley had arrived? Now that took the fun out of it. Well, at least some of it. He had expected a feisty defiant little angel whose resistance needed to be broken, instead Aziraphale looked meek and miserable.

“What is it, angel?” he asked, his voice still low but much softer than he had wanted.

“I… I didn’t mean to snap at you like that, dear,” Aziraphale said quietly. “In fact, your idea is reasonable.”

“Then why the whole ‘that would be lying’ and ‘Gabriel and Michael will notice’ act?” Crowley inquired, his hand still around Aziraphale’s throat.

“I…don’t…”

“What’s really the problem? Why were you so mad?”

Crowley smiled as Aziraphale made a movement with his arms before he remembered that they were bound at the moment. It told Crowley that reflexively Aziraphale tried to get his hands in front of him. So this was a situation in which he would usually stare down at his fingers and nervously fiddle with them.

“Ah, I…, when you said that, I…, I was wondering, well…” Aziraphale stuttered, falling over his own words. Finally he took a deep breath before wording his thoughts. “I was suddenly afraid that you planned this all along. That we are just… friends because you wanted to get me to agree to a sort of contract. That this was just business for you.”

Stunned to silence for a moment, Crowley searched Aziraphale’s eyes and saw no lie, no deception. A deep sigh escaped him.

“Angel, we started running into each other four and a half millennia ago,” he chuckled. “Oh, and I’ve been fucking you for that half millennia.”

He grinned when Aziraphale flinched at his choice of words and went on.

“While I’m flattered that you deem me capable of planning ahead so far, you must admit that it’s a bit far-fetched that I would wait so long, hmm?” Crowley’s hand wandered from Aziraphale’s throat into his hair to pull it and bare the neck. Between soft bites and tender kisses Crowley spoke: “This is not business, this is fun. I just thought we make sure to have more time for fun by organizing business a bit smarter.”

“As ah…as I… I said, that so-hou-nds reasonable,” Aziraphale moaned. “But if you want to discuss the terms, I demand you leave me some capacity to think and speak.”

“Hmmm, not in a position to make any demands, are you, angel?” Crowley purred. “Let’s talk about this later. Can’t let your behavior out there go unpunished, can I?”

“No,” Aziraphale said with a blush. “That would be irresponsible.”

Crowley miracled Aziraphale’s clothing away and smirking watched while the shadowy tendrils dragged Aziraphale towards the bed and secured him there. Crowley felt the scales of his demonic form ripple along his spine, replacing the human skin on his shoulders, neck and upper arms. His wings burst out with a force that smothered the hearth fire.

His infernal shape breaking through so sudden had not happened in a while. Then again, it had not happened in a while that Aziraphale had made him so mad. Sure, he often was exasperated with Aziraphale and Aziraphale liked provoking him. But this time the little bastard had not only denied him or teased him. No, this time when Aziraphale had walked away, Crowley felt his metaphorical grasp on the angel loosening. He really had not liked the thought of not having Aziraphale again. And now that Aziraphale was right there, bond, helpless and ready for the taking, the demon inside Crowley wanted to mark him as his again.

After disrobing himself, he climbed on the bed and grinned down at his prey.

“That’s how it goes, Aziraphale,” he explained. “If it gets too much, you say ‘Eastgate’ and I’ll stop whatever I'm doing. Well, at least I’ll go easier on you.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Can’t I just say ‘stop’ or ‘no’?” he asked.

“Oh, angel, you can and you will,” Crowley chuckled darkly. “In fact I want you to. I want you to beg me for mercy all the time. You will say no and I will ignore it. You will say stop and I will keep going. That’s why I need you to say ‘Eastgate’ when you really mean it. You will be good for me and only say it when you _really_ mean it, right?”

“R…right,” said Aziraphale nervously.

Crowley looked at his angel with fake sympathy.

“Oh,” he said with a pout. “It took you over 500 years to finally become afraid of me?”

Aziraphale’s expression filled with determination and he shook his head almost petulantly.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he smiled. “I trust you.”

The words fueled Crowley’s desire. He was not sure why they had such an effect. So he assumed it was normal for a demon to feel a certain satisfaction when having subdued an angel. Content with this explanation he gave in to his lust and pressed his mouth on Aziraphale’s. The angel sighed and parted his lips immediately to welcome Crowley’s tongue.

While kissing Aziraphale deeply, he let one hand wander down the soft sides of the body beneath him. His nails broke the milky skin, leaving thin scratch marks, but Aziraphale made no sound of protest. Then Crowley let his fingertips sooth over the reddened skin, only to dig his nails into the flesh of the broad hips second later. Satisfied with the gasp of pain and surprise, Crowley chuckled. He broke the kiss, used his second hand to grab Aziraphale’s other hip and turn him around. With an undignified sound Aziraphale’s face hit the pillows.

Not giving the other any time to process the change of position, Crowley slapped across the plump cheeks of Aziraphale's arse. A squeal was the reaction, but it was more of surprise than of pain. Crowley was determined to change that. He let his hand drive down again, harder this time. Without any reprieve he repeated the movement over and over, more force behind it with every slap. Fascinated and satisfied he watched the white flesh turn pink under his ministrations, barely registering Aziraphale’s sobs. Until Aziraphale addressed him directly.

“Crowley, please stop,” he begged and turned his head as far as his human corporation allowed.

“Oh, I don’t think I will,” Crowley purred. “After all you need to be punished.”

“I learned my lesson,” Aziraphale said in his sweetest voice. “Please stop.”

“Hmmm,” Crowley pretended to think while pushing Aziraphale’s legs apart and positioning himself in between. “I think… no!”

He applied another set of harsh smacks on the reddened buttocks until Aziraphale’s begging for mercy was nothing more than a random set of words that did not really make sense except for the occasional “no” and “please”. If part of Crowley was worried that Aziraphale had forgotten what he needed to say when he really wanted to stop – which of course was not the case because why would he care – this worry would have disappeared when he parted the pink cheeks. Immediately he spotted the wetness that had blossomed between Aziraphale’s legs.

“Cunt again?” chuckled Crowley. “You have a preference for that configuration, hmm?”

“You must admit it gets in the way far less,” sounded Aziraphale’s voice. Even though he was muffled by the pillow, Crowley heard the concern in his words when he asked: “Don’t you like it?”

Crowley could not help his face soften and before he knew it, he stroke lovingly along Aziraphale’s spine down to the delicious butt, between the still sore cheeks over the tight arsehole until he reached the wet opening of Aziraphale’s cunt.

“When in the last centuries have I ever given you the impression that I don’t like that pretty little pussy of yours?” he asked softly. “Just wondering what your friends from the Round Table would think.”

“Why would they…? Crowley, what do you think we are doing there?” Aziraphale asked indignantly.

Crowley laughed, but it was a weak laughter. Of course it was ridiculous to think anyone would get to spot what his angel had between the legs, but still the image of anyone else seeing let alone touching it, left a sour taste in his mouth.

With a growl as the only warning he pushed two fingers in the tight channel, ignoring Aziraphale’s hiss of discomfort. Relentlessly he started pumping in and out the delicious wet heat while Aziraphale whimpered beneath him. He would have loved playing a little more with Aziraphale but his own arousal worked against his thin patience. He lined himself up at Aziraphale’s entrance.

“Wings out!” Crowley commanded and Aziraphale obeyed.

As soon as the flawless white appendages appeared, Crowley grabbed them and used his hold on them as leverage when he pushed in.

“Don’t think your arse is save, just because you have a cunt,” he whispered in Aziraphale’s ear while driving into him with force. “The night is still young and I plan to make the most of it.”

And he did. It was hours later that Crowley let go of the exhausted angel in his arms. The usually pale body was once more covered in love bites, scratch and bite marks, red hand prints and their joined fluids. Crowley let his fingers dance over the tokens of their encounter.

Overall he was content. Initially he had feared Aziraphale’s first reaction to his proposal was a symptom of lacking attachment, but it had turned out that the opposite was the case. Aziraphale in fact was very attached to him and it were his hurt feelings that had him snap at Crowley. That was good - the more Aziraphale cared, the easier it was to keep him under control. He relished in the rush of power that overcame him at the thought. There was a warm feeling underneath, but Crowley could not name it and so he ignored it.

Under normal circumstances Crowley would leave now, but there was still business to discuss. So he wrapped one black wing around his angel and allowed sleep to come.

If he murmured “Mine” before drifting away, nobody was there to hear it.

*

As usual Aziraphale woke up alone. Trying to tell himself that was alright, he pushed his nose into the pillow, hoping to catch remains of Crowley’s scent when suddenly a screeching sound alarmed him. He sat up and saw Crowley dragging a chair over to the window.

“You’re here!” Aziraphale beamed at him.

“Sure, we have some things to discuss!” said Crowley and added apologetically: “But I meant to let you sleep a bit longer. Didn’t think it would dare waking you.”

“Are you giving the chair an evil stare?”

“Well, someone has to teach it some manners,” growled Crowley. “You obviously didn’t.”

“You are right, dear, I don’t make a habit of intimidating lifeless objects,” sighed Aziraphale and got out of bed despite his aching body’s complaints.

“That’s why they don’t respect you!”

“I never felt disrespected by that chair,” chuckled Aziraphale but winced in pain immediately. “Crowley, would you mind terribly if I heal myself?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’d mind terribly, but I’d mind a little,” smirked Crowley.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale pouted.

“Alright, alright. Let’s see,” said Crowley and started to circle Aziraphale, scrutinizing him.

Aziraphale blushed. Crowley’s undivided attention was focused on his body, a possessive glint shimmered in the golden eyes as well as a specific kind of hunger.

“Heal your arse and your back. Hips and stomach if you must,” Crowley finally said. “But leave those on your thighs and neck!”

Aziraphale felt his face heat up even more but nodded and healed the wounds Crowley had allowed him to heal.

“Better?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, thank you, at least I can sit now,” Aziraphale smiled, miracling himself into a light robe.

“You do that!” Crowley snapped his fingers and all kinds of fruit, cheese and bread appeared on the table. “We can talk about our arrangement while you eat.”

“Yes, what excactly…oh!” Suddenly Aziraphale remembered what he had wanted to tell Crowley before their unfortunate encounter the day before. “I think I figured out what the druid told you! You want to talk about that after…?”

“No, tell me now!” Crowley commanded but added a soft “Please,” when he saw Aziraphale’s eyes widen in surprise.

“First of all, are you sure that’s what he said?” Aziraphale asked doubtfully. “I understand he was pretty drunk…”

“Yes, he said he needed it to be open for the spirit world or some nonsense,” Crowley waved dismissively. “Don’t know if that’s true, but he was used to that kind of spirit, too, if you know what I mean.”

“Well, alright. But knowing you,” said Aziraphale. “You probably got drunk with him and…”

“I’m sure that’s what he said, angel.”

“If you’re sure. But…,” Aziraphale spoke hesitantly. “The only language that sentence actually makes any sense in – and I’m not saying it makes a lot of sense in it – is a rare ancient Egyptian dialect. I really don’t know how a Celtic druid…”

“Maybe an Egypt spirit talked through him?” Crowley interrupted and urged Aziraphale on with an impatient wave of his hand. “What does it mean?”

“It would translate, more or less as ‘to free a damned soul as you desire, you need three magic powers of the same kind but of different sorts from the three places you traveled’.” Aziraphale told Crowley. “Does that make sense to you?”

“Maybe,” answered Crowley before grumbling: “No. But I will make sense of it. Will need to think about it.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help you,” said Aziraphale sadly.

“None of that, Aziraphale,” Crowley smiled. “Without you I still had no clue. Did you make notes while working on it?”

“Sure, you can have them!”

“That’s my angel,” Crowley tipped Aziraphale’s nose. “Now, about that arrangement…”

*

A few decades later Crowley was at a lake again. It was a different lake but connected to Camelot as well. It was further away but still closer. Crowley waited until the water near the shore grew unruly and a young handsome man with light brown hair, brown eyes and a boyish smile appeared.

Crowley barely concealed his tension when he spotted the sword in the man’s hands.

“You were right, love!” The brunette beamed at Crowley. “How did you know? The lake is huge!”

“Instinct, Brinley,” answered Crowley sardonically.

When Brinley wanted to run into Crowley’s arms, the demon stopped him with a gesture. He handed the young men a towel.

“Be a darling and dry that sword before giving it to me, will you?” he smiled.

“Oh, alright,” Brinley said, his mood slightly darkened.

But he did as Crowley had asked. Careful not to touch the man himself, Crowley took the sword.

“Thank you,” he said without looking at the young man.

He fastened the sword to his belt and turned back to the brunette.

“Not that I’m complaining, darling,” said Brinley, now trying to dry himself with the towel. “But what did you need me for? You obviously knew where to find the thing and I know firsthand how athletic you are.”

He spoke that last words with a seductive wink, but Crowley only gave him a cold smile.

“Oh, you know,” he said casually. “I’m a demon and with all this good holy God fearing men having been around that lake, I’m not sure the water hasn’t turned into Holy Water by now. It’s unlikely, but I didn’t want to take any chances.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Brinley chuckled nervously.

“You have a strange sense of humor, love,” he said.

“Do I now?”

With one smooth move Crowley removed his dark glasses and stared into the brunette’s eyes. In shock Brinley stumbled a few steps back, lost his balance and fell to the ground.

“Plea… please don’t hurt me,” he begged.

“You sang a different tune last night,” Crowley chuckled darkly and snapped his fingers.

Brinley fell asleep instantly and Crowley made sure he would not remember the past month. Sighing Crowley looked at the sword on his belt.

“That makes two,” he mumbled. “Now for the hard part.”

[7] The Knights of the Table Round should have objected to one of their own indulging in unusual privileges since it went their principle of equality among them. But somehow Sir Aziraphale was always very convincing when asked to justify his special requests and nobody ever found a single counterargument.


	5. Denial

“Not bad, Crowley,“ spoke Dagon, studying her notes. “That angel still is a thorn in our side, but I guess that’s how it is, right?”

“Yes,” Crowley said, staring into the mirror that right now did not show his own reflection but projected the image of the Lord of the Files. “I can’t be everywhere and as you said, if we get out the big guns they do, too. And who knows how that would end for us.”

“Exactly,” Dagon nodded. “I usually trust you know what you’re doing so we don’t need to go through all your miracles, but I see several mind influencing miracles in and around London here. What did you do?”

“I made sure a certain play becomes a success,” Crowley said, hoping to sound like it was the most normal thing in the world. “You know, telling some important persons to go and see it. Most of my targets I could convince without a miracle.”

“You didn’t strike me as a friend of the theatre,” Dagon said sarcastically.

She was not wrong. Sure, Crowley liked funny plays, but he never had gotten into theatre like Aziraphale had. Especially when it came to the depressing shit flowing out of some authors' quills, Shakespeare in particular, he was at a loss. Why would anyone spent their rare free time getting themselves in a bad mood by watching sad stuff?

“It’s an experiment,” he lied. “It’s really a very gloomy story, depressing as He… as anything. I’m hoping for a spike in suicide. And you know, only in rare cases Heaven takes in the souls of suicide victims.”

Dagon looked doubtful but shrugged.

“I don’t think that works,” she said. “But I have to admit you’re instincts usually are very good. Can’t hurt to try new things.”

“Thank you!” Crowley exclaimed, surprising himself with how genuine he sounded. “I mean we didn’t Fall because we love to do the same thing over and over and over again, right?”

“Agreed,” Dagon nodded while scribbling on her notebook. “Creativity should be our advantage against Heaven. It too rarely really is.”

“My words exactly,” Crowley said. “Well, not exactly my words but what I meant.”

“Who knows? Maybe things will change,” Dagon said. “Let's see if your theatre experiment works. See you in a few years, Crowley.”

She disappeared and while Crowley sure was annoyed by Hell’s lack of imagination, he really hoped the success of “Hamlet” would _not_ lead to a spike in suicide. If Aziraphale would make that connection, – and he would, he was not an idiot – he would fall into a deep spiral of guilt. Because of course Aziraphale had known what he was doing when giving Crowley that _look_ at the Globe Theatre. Whether it was acting on knowledge or subconscious behavior, Crowley did not know. But Aziraphale, much to Crowley’s dismay, had learned how to flutter his lashes, purse his lips or raise his brows to get under the demon’s skin. Crowley often felt like he had to prove to Aziraphale that Aziraphale needed Crowley. That nobody could get things done like Crowley.

That urge was even stronger whenever he saw someone courting Aziraphale. Because what could a silly human have to offer compared to Crowley? Too bad Aziraphale was too endearing for his own good and attracted suitors without even trying – or noticing. Thanks to the wide spread misogyny women were easy to keep in check, but a powerful and wealthy man could get closer to Aziraphale than Crowley would have liked.

“Who is your friend, angel?” became a regular question for Crowley to ask whenever he met Aziraphale in a public place.

And the naïve angel would tell him how nice his new acquaintance was.

“Richard said the soufflé they make here is divine and he wanted someone to share the delight with and so he invited me. So thoughtful!”

“John spilled his wine on me. The poor darling felt so guilty, he insisted to accompany me home so I could get changed.”

“Oh, Camille here thought I looked lonely and wanted to keep me company. Isn’t she a dear?”

Crowley grew tired of the Richards, Johns and Camilles fast, but unfortunately they did not grow tired of Aziraphale. So Crowley stayed close, not always showing himself, but showing himself more often than in the past. To renew his marks, his claim. To remind Aziraphale what he could do that Richard, John and Camille could not.

Aziraphale settled in London. Only for work he left and thanks to the agreement Crowley always knew beforehand where work would lead Aziraphale. He had started to hire humans to keep an eye on Aziraphale again in addition to his tracking spell. And it paid off more than once since Aziraphale really was trouble magnet.

*

Crowley was always there when Aziraphale needed him. Aziraphale could not help but smile while thinking about his friend. How did Crowley always find him? Again he had come to Aziraphale’s rescue. Like a White Knight. Black Knight? Grey Knight? Anyway, like a hero.

It was not Aziraphale’s fault, really. He had not really lied. There_ were _no decent crepes outside of Paris. And would Gabriel actually care about Aziraphale’s work on Earth and check on his miracles, he would find a lot of them too frivolous and reprimand Aziraphale. So Aziraphale was sure there was a very nearby alternative reality where everything he had told Crowley was perfectly true.

Right now he was waiting for Crowley in the demon’s quite luxurious abode. Crowley had made sure Aziraphale would have a hot bath to clean himself of the dirt in the Bastille and whatever parasites might live in the executioner’s clothes. After taking a sip of the expensive wine, he closed his eyes and sank back into the relaxing heat of the water.

Right on time for Crowley’s return Aziraphale had dried himself and was wrapped in the comfortable nightgown he had found on the bed. Crowley grinned at him.

“Everything’s taken care of, angel,” he said. “All the guards are looking for a tall, muscular man with black hair and dark brown eyes.”

“Oh, thank you, dear,” smiled Aziraphale while pouring himself more wine. “I feel much safer.”

“No problem.”

“Oh, Crowley,” said Aziraphale. “Did you miracle this Jean-Claude free?”

“No.”

“Crowley!”

“Calm down, Aziraphale,” Crowley chuckled. “There was no need. That guy is Paris’ most active and well-known executioner. The guards and some of the audience recognized him. He is fine. Finer than he deserves to be after trying to cut off that pretty head.”

Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s cheek and sighing the angel leaned into the touch. His heart jumped at the tenderness of the moment and ached at its fugacity.

“I know you wanted to go out, angel,” Crowley said after a while. “But let’s stay in, alright?”

Aziraphale nodded with a smile and did his best to hide his disappointment. He would love to go out for a few hours, just talk and laugh. But it was only fair that Crowley wanted to stay and claim his reward immediately. Aziraphale of course was more than willing to grant that, but after there would be no more time.

“Of course, dear,” he answered.

“Great.”

To Aziraphale’s surprise, Crowley snapped his fingers and next to the bed and a table, set for two people, appeared. On the big plate in the middle several sweet smelling, freshly made crepes waited to be enjoyed while a smaller one offered some brioche. Another snap created two chairs, one of which Crowley gallantly offered to Aziraphale.

“Have a seat,” he said. “Or do you want to eat in bed?”

He winked at Aziraphale and the angel felt his cheeks heat up.

“No,” he answered. “The table is better. For eating.”

Crowley laughed.

“So I heard,” he chuckled as he waited for Aziraphale to sit before slumping into the second chair.

Aziraphale was happy. He had been absolutely prepared to skip that part of their usual meeting schedule and let Crowley do to him whatever he wanted. Which made it all the better to have their usual exchange. They listened to each other’s stories about what had happened since their last encounter, made fun of colleagues and superiors, but most of all talked about humans and their shenanigans. Crowley would not admit it and Aziraphale would never point it out. But beneath Crowley’s mocking, scoffing and ranting, Aziraphale could feel a certain admiration, a kind of respect, maybe even affection for those weird creatures that vibrated with love and hate, empathy and cruelty, intelligence and stupidity. Aziraphale recognized it because he felt the same. Humans exhausted him, angered him and hurt him. And he loved them. Almost as much as…

“What I wanted to ask you,” Crowley interrupted his thoughts. “Did they ever give you a replacement for that sword you gave away?”

“Uhm…”

“You still haven’t told them?”

“It never really came up…”

“So you are waiting for someone to ask you?”

“More or less.”

“Oh, angel,” Crowley chuckled. “What kind of sword was it? Only saw it from afar. Two-handed?”

“What? No?” Aziraphale giggled a bit embarrassed. “I could barely handle the one-handed blade. But in my defense, I think Gabriel and Sandalphon are the only ones to wield a two-handed sword.”

“I see…” Deep in thought Crowley chewed on a brioche, remaining silent for a while.

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, just curious.” Crowley said dismissively. Then with a raised eyebrow and a grin he added: “As I am curious where the wine came from.”

“Excuse me?”

“The wine.” Crowley pointed on the bottle on the table. “You had it when I came back. Which means you either left the house which I told you not to. Or you used a rather frivolous miracle to make it appear which – according to your own words – you are not allowed to do.”

“Uhm…”

With a smirk Crowley left his seat. While he walked around the table to approach Aziraphale, he let his long slender fingers glide over the bottle.

“Hmm, I sense divine power on this,” he said. “You miracled it here.”

“Uhm…”

“So, tell me, angel,” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s chin and forced him to meet his eyes. “Why isn’t there an angry Gabriel bursting through my door to reprimand the incorrigible principality for yet another ‘frivolous miracle’?”

“Well, I… you… he… is an Archangel,” Aziraphale sputtered. “Pretty busy with… Archangel duties…”

Chuckling Crowley bend down to brush his nose against Aziraphale’s.

“How much of an idiot you think I am, Aziraphale?” he smirked.

Aziraphale put on a sweet smile and fluttered his lashes.

“Is that one of those ‘trick questions’ you keep talking about?” he asked innocently.

With a growl Crowley pulled Aziraphale up and started pushing him towards the bed. He shoved Aziraphale down to the mattress and crawled over him. Like a hawk Crowley watched Aziraphale from above. For a stranger watching the scene (and Aziraphale deeply hoped there was none) Crowley was being rough as always. And yet there was a special reverence in his touches and words.

“How dare you lie to me, angel?” Crowley growled. His kiss was bruising but the hands in Aziraphale’s hair were soothing.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale managed to gasp out when they broke apart.

“You’re not,” chuckled Crowley.

“No, I’m not,” admitted Aziraphale.

“You little bastard,” said Crowley, his eyes hungry and his grip tightening. “For your sake I really hope you remember our word.”

“I do,” answered Aziraphale. “But you won’t get to hear it.”

“We’ll see about that, little angel. We’ll see about that.”

*

For a few more decades everything was lovely. Until one sunny day in 1862. Crowley had asked for a meeting in the park and Aziraphale had rushed there, excited to see Crowley again. Admittedly he was not really listening closely to Crowley’s secretive words since the ducks were being particularly adorable this day and he was already planning where to take Crowley for tea and later dinner.

Thoughts he was ripped out of when Crowley handed him a note and whispered, “I want insurance for when it all goes wrong.”

The world went silent around Aziraphale when he read the note. “Holy Water” it said. Disappointment, heartbreak, fear and anger flooded Aziraphale while he stared at the paper in his trembling fingers.

“Absolutely not!”

“Why not?”

“It would destroy you! I’m not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley!” Aziraphale was full of rage. He could not believe that the most important person in his life expected him to assist in his self-destruction.

“It’s not what I want it for! Just insurance!” Crowley said. But that did not make it better. So he did not want to kill himself now but at an unknown point in the future. How could he do that to Aziraphale?

“I’m not an idiot Crowley!” he said, even though he felt like one. How had he not noticed that Crowley grew tired of existence?

“Do you know what trouble I’d be in if they’d knew I’d been fraternizing?” he asked upset. And it was true. Aziraphale had risked everything to be with Crowley as often as possible and Crowley just wanted to throw it away.

They exchanged a few heated words, hissing at each other. Aziraphale barely registered what Crowley said until the demon sneered at him, “I have other people to fraternize with, angel. I don’t need you!”

At these words Aziraphale’s heart shattered. For centuries he had tried to be good for Crowley, to make him happy. To be what Crowley needed. Only to find out now that Crowley did not need him at all. Of course not. Crowley was beautiful, stunning and charming. Of course he could find other lovers.

To save himself the humiliation of crying in front of Crowley, Aziraphale lied “And the feeling is mutual, obviously” before turning away and rushing home.

When later that night Crowley came to see him, he did not feel relief like he had in the cottage near Camelot. Because this time he could not give in. He could not give Crowley what he needed.

So when Crowley pushed him against a bookshelf, pinned his wrists with one hand and grabbed his throat with the other Aziraphale immediately whispered “Eastgate”.

Crowley let go of him at once and tilted his head in confusion.

“I’m sorry, Crowley,” Aziraphale said coldly. “I suggest you ask your _other _friends to help you kill yourself.”

“I told you, it’s just…”

“…insurance, yes!” Aziraphale hissed. “For when things get rough to just end it!”

“What? No!” Crowley threw his arms in the air. “To defend myself.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know, I know, Heaven is a rough place,” Crowley said sarcastically. “I’m sure you’re in danger of being bored to death there. But demons, sweetheart, are really dangerous for others and for each other. Piss off the wrong people and they come for you. Holy Water would give me an advantage no other demon has.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Aziraphale pondered Crowley’s words. But after a while he shook his head.

“No. Even if you want to use it on other demons, it’s still dangerous for you. One wrong move…”

“I’m not an idiot, Aziraphale!”

“Of course not, dear!” Aziraphale said and carefully stepped closer to Crowley and tenderly cupped his cheek. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

Grinning Crowley circled his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth.

“But,” Aziraphale continued. “I saw the most intelligent men and women on Earth spill their tea in a moment of distraction. So you being clever makes no difference. I won’t bring you the Holy Water.”

Crowley grabbed his shoulders.

“I can handle that, Aziraphale,” he growled. “Why are you being so difficult about that?”

“Because I love you!” Aziraphale blurted out. He bit his tongue immediately, but it was too late.

Once more his heart broke when Crowley’s face froze and his body stiffened.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, unnervingly calm. “I’m a demon.”

“All these years and I had no idea,” answered Aziraphale sarcastically before sighing: “I know what you are.”

“Then you know that I don’t feel the same, right?” Crowley asked. “I can’t. Demons cannot love.”

“But you’re always so…”

“I like you, I like your company. We have fun,” Crowley went on without mercy. “But I don’t love you.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, blinking away tears. “I apologize for bringing it up.”

A dreadful silence stretched between the two of them. Finally Crowley broke it.

“I should go,” he said.

And he did.

*

Impatiently Crowley paced in front of the cave entrance. The sun was already setting, its last lights falling through the leaves in thin streams. It was quiet. The creatures of the woods knew better than to loiter around near a demon. And there were currently two in this area, trying to lure an angel.

The trap Crowley had set was obvious and he could not help thinking that Aziraphale would never fall for it. Aziraphale was way too smart for this. Crowley scolded himself for thinking about Aziraphale. He should focus on his current task. Aziraphale was a problem for another day, but he kept stealing himself back into Crowley’s thoughts again and again.

He was not even angry with Aziraphale. The angel was just being himself. Naively falling for a demon and becoming emotional about certain things. No, Crowley was angry with himself for not playing his cards right. He was a demon! He should have smiled a charming smile, told Aziraphale what he wanted to hear and have his favorite little plaything wrapped around his finger and ready to do his bidding for all eternity. What had come over him? Being honest of all things. Stupid! It would take a lot of time and effort to get Aziraphale to talk to him again. Let alone to spread his legs. He had gotten some curvy blond human in a badly lit bedroom and tried to pretend, but the smell, the sensation, the sound – everything was wrong. And mortals were so fragile!

Crowley had even been tempted to ask his current companion if he was in for a round or two. As an incubus he could take any shape Crowley desired and to a certain degree even simulate other sensations. But probably even he could not imitate an angel. Besides that Crowley really did not like Onyx. Even for demon standards he was a jerk.

In exactly that moment said demon appeared from the cave.

“Crowley, you are the best, darling,” Onyx purred. “The rune circle you drew held that bastard in. If it really does not wear off for a year, I can finish up here without him disturbing me.”

“The veiling spell at the cave entrance should hide him from other angels and a year is not enough for them to get worried and come looking blindly.” Crowley said, not reacting to the seductive tone of the other demon. “Did you get it?”

“Of course,” Onyx smiled. “For an Archangel he is not good at withstanding torture.”

The incubus handed over a big linen bag.

“Be careful,” he said. “The handle seems to be fine, but touching the blade hurts.”

He lifted his hand to show off a dark red burn mark on his hand.

“Touching _that_ side of _any_ sword is never smart,” Crowley said while taking the bag. “Why would you touch a _celestial_ sword’s sharp side?”

“Didn’t think.” Onyx shrugged.

“An incubus’ life in a nutshell…” Crowley murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Crowley said.

Carefully he took the weapon out of the bag. Crowley was not used to two-handed weapons and it was heavy in his hands. The other demon was right. The handle – though feeling incredible wrong in his hands – did not hurt, but his whole body screamed at him to keep away from the blade’s holy glow.

“I’m curious,” he said after a while. “What exactly are you doing here that Sandalphon himself shows up to thwart you?”

“Witches,” Onyx grinned.

“I thought the trials were done?” Crowley raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Seems like it,” Onyx nodded. “But that’s not why I am here. In this area a lot of witches were born thirteen years ago. Sandalphon and Gabriel themselves came down to block the babies’ power so they would never be discovered as witches. That way they protected the girls from being persecuted AND made sure they would not serve evil with their powers.”

“So?” Crowley asked. “Seems like there is nothing to gain anymore.”

“Their powers are blocked not gone,” Onyx emphasized and added with a nasty smirk: “And we all know that blocked magical power can break its way to the surface in situations of emotional distress.”

“And you will cause distress by…”

“Finding them, raping them and getting them pregnant,” the incubus enumerated like he was making a shopping list. “Their families will abandon them for premarital sex, they will be thrown alone into this women-hating world with a child to take care of. That should be enough for their magic to break out and them loathing the world. They will be powerful tools of Hell. Brilliant, huh?”

“They were born thirteen years ago? Those girls are thirteen?” Crowley inquired.

“Better wake their powers at an early age,” Onyx shrugged.

“Of course,” Crowley said coldly.

He rammed the weapon into the wood’s ground and grabbed the other demon’s temples. He let his powers flow and felt the incubus’ memories of the last days escape his mind. It was harder than wiping out human memories but Crowley was stronger than Onyx so despite some resistance, the incubus stood no chance.

Confused he kneeled in the dirt and looked up to Crowley.

“Crowley? What are you doing here?” he asked. “What’s that?”

He pointed at the sword Crowley was taking pulling out of the ground.

“That?” Crowley said casually. “That’s a celestial sword.”

“Oh? Really?” Onyx scratched his head. “Isn’t that dangerous? Those swords can kill a demon for good, can’t they?”

Crowley’s gaze swayed from the blade to Onyx’ face. With a dark smile he shrugged.

“So I’ve heard,” he whispered. “Let’s find out.”


	6. Reclaiming

Only reluctantly Aziraphale left Germany in the 1940s, but he could not deny that Gabriel had a point when he stated that Aziraphale became emotionally involved. How anyone with a heart could stay emotionally detached however was beyond Aziraphale’s horizon of understanding. Aziraphale had always thought Gabriel should take more interest in what was going on on Earth. He did not mean it to interfere with him doing his job like he wanted to. But at the end of the day he had to obey Gabriel.

Returning to London however was no panacea. The war was ever present here, too, even though the sense of home made him feel a bit better. But the times were challenging. In addition it did not take long for him to be tangled up in memories of Crowley that seemed to be stitched into various places of London like embroidery on an elegant handkerchief, beautiful but left by a sharp needle. London was big, London was growing. It would have been easy for Aziraphale to find new places to kill time at. But he bathed himself in bittersweet memories feeding ducks at the St. James Park, visiting the theatre, having a drink at Crowley’s favorite bar and spending his afternoon at the English Tea Room of the Browns Hotel.

So when Rose approached him, it was – at first – only a welcome distraction from his lovelorn state and his memories of his time in Germany. But it soon became a personal quest that mattered to him deeply. Those Nazis had destroyed Germany from within, exterminated millions of people, rampaged through the continent and drew the whole world into a devastating war. And Aziraphale was not allowed to do anything about it. But now they had dared to set foot in _his_ city to look for some books. London was Aziraphale’s home and those Nazis would not take a single page out of it.

*

Crowley was getting frustrated. He should have everything he needed. Thanks to the witch’s instruction it would be no problem to perform the ritual and gain the potion. But of course it would only free a _human_ soul from Hell’s claim on it. It did not work for a demon.[8]

For a few days now he had not left his apartment to find a way to alter the spell. Frowning he let his gaze sway over his weapon rack. The solution – he was sure – lay within the three blades hanging there: the short sword gifted to him by Satan, the long sword Excalibur and the celestial Claymore stolen from Sandalphon.

“Three magic items of the same kind but of different sorts from the three places I travelled,” murmured Crowley. “But how do I get you into the potion?”

Unsurprisingly all three swords were indestructible. So scraping off some metal and use it as an ingredient was no option. His best chance might be to win the blood that was needed by cutting the three respective animals each with one of the blades. But which animal to cut with which blade? And how to get Excalibur to stop being a little shit? Even the celestial blade had – despite his disapproving aura – the courtesy to hold still when he used it. Excalibur was anything but cooperative and made it pretty clear that it did not want to be wielded by Crowley. Well, King Arthur was dead and the Lady of the Lake was not exactly in the phone book.[9] Maybe, just maybe Excalibur would obey another Knight of the Table Round. The only living member of that illustrious group was “Sir Aziraphale”. But his relationship with the angel was still strained. And even if not, approaching Aziraphale with the words “Could you cut this cat, this sheep and this aardvark for me, please? Here, take Excalibur for that!” might raise some questions.

His phone interrupted his pondering. Annoyed Crowley grabbed the receiver and grumbled, “What?”

“Oh no, Markham,” he said mockingly after the caller had spoken. “I’m paying you lots of money to keep him under surveillance because I’m _not_ interested in news on him.”

“Sarcasm, Markham,” he sighed. “What have you got?”

“He what?!”

*

Of course, Crowley could have gone straight to Aziraphale after looking into “Captain Rose Montgomery”. Despite their unpleasant last encounter, Aziraphale would have trusted him more than some human woman and believed what he had found out. That “Rose Montgomery” was in truth Greta Kleinschmidt, a German spy herself. Admittedly, she was good at her act, English Rose face, confident posture and her English by now was better than her German. But with Crowley’s connections it had been no problem to discover the truth.

Crowley could have told Aziraphale. They could have deceived the double agent, lead her into a trap and dismantle the group of Nazi spies together. It would have been smarter, it would have been more effective, less stressful, less shocking for Aziraphale and it would not have involved Crowley walking over consecrated ground. But the dramatic last minute intervention Crowley finally decided for did offer a better chance for Crowley to prove himself useful. If it was him alone to defeat the Nazis and save Aziraphale.

At first Aziraphale was not exactly swooning.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

_Nice to see you, too, angel. _Crowley wanted to answer.

“Stopping _you_ from getting into trouble,” he said instead.

They bantered a bit, the Nazis chimed in – that was annoying. The lady dropped Crowley’s new name and Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

“Anthony?” he asked.

Crowley was getting a bit irritated. There he was, coming bursting through the church door, burning his feet, a brilliant plan in store and Aziraphale complained about his new name.

“You don’t like it?” Crowley’s attempt to sound sarcastic was drowned out by himself grinding his teeth in pain – and by the tapping of his shoes.

“No, no, I didn’t say that,” Aziraphale answered and added generously: “I’ll get used to it.”

Brat! Crowley should let him get discorporated. But that would not help mend their relationship, would it? So he gave the Nazis a fair warning[10] and Aziraphale a hint. Of course Aziraphale was too focused on saving Crowley and himself and forgot his precious books. All the better for Crowley. Whatever resistance there was left in Aziraphale after the Hollywood style rescue, evaporated when Crowley handed him the bag.

“Little demonic miracle of my own,” he said and let his words and charms sink in before he offered Aziraphale a lift.

Aziraphale accepted. In the car he was all longing glances and lingering stares. Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s deep desire to sink back into the demon’s arms and Crowley planned to fully indulge him. Triumphantly he parked the Bentley in front of Aziraphale’s shop and smirked at him.

“Close call, angel,” he purred and looked at Aziraphale over the rim of his dark glasses. “You need to be more careful who you surround yourself with.”

That was what he said.

_Trust nobody but me. Let me take care of everything. You stay in your bookshop and I keep you safe, _was what he meant.

“I admit I _have_ been a bit too trusting,” Aziraphale smiled sheepishly. “Thanks for saving me.”

“My pleasure,” said Crowley seductively and moved a little closer so that his thigh touched Aziraphale's.

“You’re too kind,” Aziraphale answered.

“Don’t mention it,” Crowley said. _Reward me without words, _his tone suggested.

But his angel surprised him and not in the good way.

“I insist on buying you lunch someday to thank you,” he answered respectfully. “But now you have to excuse me. I have some calls to make. I know of some more people who worked with ‘Rose Montgomery’. I need to find out who of them is an ally of hers and who another victim.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a polite smile and got out of the car. Flabbergasted Crowley stared after him while Aziraphale approached his shop door. He did not miss Aziraphale’s longing glance as he turned around one last time, but when Aziraphale waved him goodbye, a firm resolve showed on his cherub face. He nodded once more and disappeared inside his shop.

Well, damn. Walking on consecrated ground, killing three Nazis and saving a bag of books was not enough. Tough crowd.

*

Aziraphale was astonishingly reasonable. In fact as things calmed down after the war, he invited Crowley to lunch, this time making sure to cover the bill at least this once. They exchanged information and coordinated their current quests in the spirit of their arrangement. He agreed to more meetings, soon their usual light hearted conversations ensued again and it almost was like before. Almost. Aziraphale kept a barely noticeable distance. Whenever he spotted Crowley, he smiled lightly instead of beaming brightly at him. When Crowley said something amusing, he chuckled a bit instead of giggling adorably. And whenever Crowley gave him a lift home, he thanked him and said good bye instead of inviting Crowley in and spreading his legs for Crowley. Reasonable, but not much fun.

For years the tactful and delicate approach led Crowley nowhere and one evening as his thin patience finally ran out, he grabbed Aziraphale’s arm, not hurting him but stopping him from disappearing into the shop.

“You know, angel,” he husked in the other’s ear. “I’ve never seen the… private chambers of your little bookshop.”

Even with the moon overcast by clouds and the streetlamps several steps away from the shop’s back door, he saw the pink blush spread over the soft white skin of Aziraphale’s cheeks.

“Oh, they’re not very interesting, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale eluded the unspoken request. “Not unlike the shop, full of books, only that I’m even less willing to sell those I keep there.”

He chuckled awkwardly and tried to free his arm. But Crowley did not let go. Deciding to drop all subtlety now, he pulled Aziraphale closer and brought his lips to the other’s ear.

“Are there books blocking your bed?” he asked in a whisper. “Even if so, it’s no problem. You know I’m creative.”

Aziraphale stiffened. Avoiding to look at Crowley, he spoke to the wall.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice small, wavering, broken.

A strange hollow feeling spread in Crowley’s stomach when he noticed Aziraphale’s body starting to tremble faintly. He did not like how upset Aziraphale got at the mere thought of reviving their physical relationship.

“Why not?” Crowley asked softly. “You know I’ll take good care of you.”

Aziraphale was taking deep breaths now and apparently tried to calm his quivering body. He bit his lip and turned towards Crowley.

“You know why,” he asked weakly.

That much was true. Crowley knew why, but he did not deem it a good reason and took his chance to press his lips on Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale made a surprised noise and Crowley gave him no chance to react further. He crowded Aziraphale against the wall next to the back door and deepened the kiss. He felt Aziraphale’s knees weaken and tightened his grip to support Aziraphale in his arms. Satisfied he smiled against Aziraphale’s mouth when he parted his lips to let Crowley’s tongue slip in. Growing bold Crowley let his hands wander, one to Aziraphale’s butt, the other under the old-fashioned jacket towards the buttons of the waistcoat.

Crowley lost himself in the kiss. Now that he felt Aziraphale become pliant once more under his touch, he noticed just how much he had missed having him in his arms. Just when he considered his goal achieved and started to unbutton Aziraphale’s waistcoat, Crowley felt the tingle of a divine miracle. There was no pain or discomfort so obviously the angel had not used his powers on him, but it was there. Confused Crowley broke the kiss and looked around. The shop’s back door was suddenly open.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale whispered and used Crowley’s temporary distraction to push him away. “I can’t!” With that he rushed through the door and locked it behind him.

A frustrated noise escaped Crowley as he let himself fall against the wall. He sighed. Too reckless! Now he had scared away his prey and had no idea when it would come close enough again for another attempt. Or if ever.

*

Ironically it would be Crowley’s decision to devote his time to other matters for a while that would lead Aziraphale back to him sooner than expected.

He made no progress with the spell. By now he could perform the ritual in his sleep. He had tried every combination of winning the blood with the help of the blades but it made no difference.[11] There was no notable change in the magic signature of the potion. So all he had won were suspicious glances at the petting zoo because he was there more often than normal for adult men without children (and one of the sheep was especially afraid of him) and an obviously masochistic cat that refused to leave even though he had cut her several times with three different blades. Crowley hated her. That was why he only gave her canned food and she was not allowed in the bedroom. Her name was Morgan.

Reluctantly Crowley accepted the possibility that in fact the druid’s vision had been nothing more than drunk babbling and his collection of magical weapons would not help him free himself from Hell by magic. Of course they provided some insurance against his demonic colleagues, but if someday they found out that Crowley was not the loyal servant of Hell that he should be, Crowley wanted some more. Thanks to his little rescue mission in the 1940s he knew that Holy Water was no priceless treasure to the humans that they locked away safely. It was available for free in the public area of any church. It could not be that hard to fill some of it in bottles – for a non-demon of course. So he needed help. But if he knew something about humans, it was that it was easy to get them to do as he said.

So one evening in 1967 Crowley gathered a couple do-no-goods in a sleazy bar in SoHo. They were rather surprised that it was a bottle of Holy Water they were to steal for him, but the 300 pounds offered for an easy job seemed to be enough for them to keep all questions to themselves.

Crowley was already on his way back to the car when the locksman of the group, a handsome – if somewhat strange – young man named Shadwell, called him back. He offered him the services of a secret organization named the “Witchfinder Army” in case he ever needed it. Crowley back in the day had of course heard of them and always supposed they had just at some point gone extinct. But as it seemed they had just gone into secrecy. Probably for the better. Common people would deem a witchfinder a nutjob, a witch would deem them a nice human guinea pig to try all sorts of curses and malevolent spells on. Shadwell was a weird young man, but Crowley was not one to judge and took his card. Having some humans at hand who were not surprised by the supernatural might prove useful one day.

Content with the evening’s achievements, Crowley let himself fall into the driving seat of his Bentley. Immediately he felt a familiar prickling shortly rushing over his skin. He turned to the passenger seat next to him and found Aziraphale sitting there.

Too surprised to turn his charms on, he just blurted out: “What are you doing here?”

“I needed a word with you.”

“What?”

As it turned out the rumor mill of SoHo had carried word of Crowley’s plans to his favorite bookseller and Aziraphale was aware that Crowley had not given up on the Holy Water.

“Crowley, it’s too dangerous,” he pleaded. “Holy Water won’t just kill your body, it will destroy you completely!”

Crowley wanted to face Aziraphale but the worry and the concern shining in the deep blue eyes was nothing he could bare, so he looked sideward, hoping for his glasses to hide that he was too weak to hold Aziraphale’s gaze.

“You told me what you think,” he reminded Aziraphale. “A 105 years ago.”

“And I haven’t changed my mind,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley suppressed the urge to scoff. Of course. Only Aziraphale would drop by just for a lecture about how right he was.

“But I can’t have you risking your life, not even for something dangerous. So…” Aziraphale suddenly continued. As if to belie Crowley he produced a tartan patterned thermos and carefully handed it to Crowley.

“You can call off the robbery,” he announced and begged: “Don’t go unscrewing the cap.”

It took Crowley a second to understand what Aziraphale offered, but when he did, he reverently reached for the thermos to take it from Aziraphale’s hands.

“Is that the real thing?” he asked, not because he did not trust Aziraphale but because he still could not believe it.

“The Holiest,” Aziraphale confirmed.

“After everything you said?” Crowley stared at Aziraphale.

“Should I say ‘thank you’?” he asked after a while.

“Better not,” was the tightlipped answer.

Crowley cradled the thermos in his hand like Aziraphale had given him the most valuable gift ever given. And maybe he had because Crowley now understood that he had not lost Aziraphale. The angel not only once more risked the wrath of his superiors since he apparently had snatched some of Heaven’s supply of Holy Water. No, he also acted against his own firm believes. For Crowley. Crowley knew now that he still had a firm grip on Aziraphale’s heart. But the triumphant feeling was tainted by Aziraphale’s demeanor.

The sweet thing sat there fussy and nervous, not unlike his state at the walls of Eden. And just like he had back then given Adam and Eve his sword to protect them without knowing the consequences, he had now given Crowley the Holy Water to protect him, without knowing the consequences. The gravity of the situation threatened to suffocate Crowley and so he decided to break the silence.

“Can I drop you anywhere?” he asked casually.

“No, thank you,” Aziraphale smiled politely.

Damn. Aziraphale started to pull away again. Crowley would not allow it. He did not know what came over him when he tried pouting. As if a cute movement of the lower lip could impress the master of pleading facial expressions!

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed!” As expected Aziraphale did not waver at the pouty face. “Maybe one day we can, I don’t know, go for a picnic or dine at the Ritz.”

But the promises of future encounters were not enough. Not anymore! Carefully Crowley put the thermos into the glove box – a miraculous perfect fit – before trying again.

“I’ll give you a lift," he offered one more time. "Anywhere you wanna go."

“You go too fast for me, Crowley,” Aziraphale answered almost primly.

In sync with the raising of Crowley’s eyebrow the door locked as Aziraphale tried to leave the car. Crowley was not sure whether that was him or the Bentley. It had not had taken long for him and the beautiful vehicle to form a strong bond. That came in very handy. She for example did not need any fuel, she drove because Crowley wanted her to. And maybe she had noticed that he did not want Aziraphale to leave and so she made sure he did not leave.

What was definitely Crowley was bringing the shadows to life again to slither around Aziraphale’s body and keep him in his seat. Crowley took off his glasses while leaning over to Aziraphale. He put his left hand with unambiguous intention high on one sturdy leg, brought his face close to Aziraphale’s and looked at him with an amused smile.

“Too fast?” he asked incredulously. “Angel, I had my cock inside you more times than I can count, and offering you a lift home is going too fast?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, Crowley was not sure whether from the unexpected touch or the crass vocabulary. Several times Aziraphale’s mouth opened and closed again before he finally produced some words.

“I… you… must you be so…? You know exactly… And anyway…” Aziraphale sputtered.

“You can start making sense anytime now, Aziraphale,” Crowley echoed Aziraphale’s word from way back in Rome with pursed lips and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I gave you what you wanted,” Aziraphale said with a nod towards the glove box while writhing in the shadowy tendrils’ grip. “Now let me go.”

Lightning fast Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s chin.

“I appreciate the Holy Water, very much,” he spoke in a dark voice. “But it’s not what I want.”

“Crowley…,”

“I’ll drive you home, we go in and we talk,” Crowley stated matter-of-factly. “Then you’ll give me what I want.”

“You seem pretty sure,” Aziraphale said haughtily.

“That’s because I _am_ pretty sure, angel!”

The drive to the bookshop was uneventful. Aziraphale was pouting adorably but made no attempt to free himself. He probably could not. Aziraphale was good at influencing and inspiring people, he was an amazing healer and he could calm down the angriest humans. But exacting or countering supernatural violence was not his strong suit. Until this very day Crowley did not understand how Aziraphale had ended up at the gates of Eden. Not that Crowley was complaining. Even though he was sure Aziraphale was secured, Crowley was glad he did not try to escape. He could have hurt himself in the process.

At the bookshop Crowley pulled the still sulking angel out of the car and dragged him into the small flat above Aziraphale’s bookshop. There he pushed Aziraphale against the nearest wall and brushed his nose against the other’s.

“I’m tired of this, angel,” he growled. “I want you and you want me. Why are you being so difficult about this? We always had so much fun.”

Aziraphale smiled sadly.

“Fun, yes,” he whispered. “But you know it was not only fun for me.”

“I never made any promises.”

“And I don’t blame you, dear,” Aziraphale assured him. “It’s just…”

“What?” Crowley asked. “That you love me and I don’t love you?”

Aziraphale paled at Crowley’s bluntness but nodded silently.

“So what?” Crowley asked.

“You can’t be serious,” said the angel.

“Dead serious.” Again Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s chin and gently rubbed his thumb along the angel’s jawline. “Nothing has changed, has it? I’m the same, you’re the same. The only thing that is different, is that you are denying both of us what we really want.”

“Crowley…”

“Tell me I’m wrong, angel,” Crowley challenged him. “Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t want to be in my arms again. Tell me you don’t miss it to be held down and taken. Tell me you don’t want to feel me inside you again.”

“I…” Aziraphale avoided looking at Crowley and bit his lip. “I… can’t.”

“You can’t,” repeated Crowley. “You need me, angel, admit or not, you need me. So why torture yourself over something we both can’t change?”

Slowly Aziraphale lifted his gaze until his eyes met Crowley’s. He did not say anything, but the tension left his body. Smiling softly Crowley leant down to kiss him, chaste at first, more demanding when no resistance followed. Aziraphale allowed Crowley to dominate the kiss that soon got heated and to circle his arms around him.

“Show me your bedroom, Aziraphale,” Crowley ordered after a while and Aziraphale complied.

Of course there _were_ books blocking the bed. Sheepishly Aziraphale snapped his fingers and they obediently flew into the nearby shelves where they sorted themselves.

“Heh,” he chuckled to fill the silence. “Another frivolous mi…oops.”

Crowley pushed Aziraphale towards the mattress.

“Enough talking, angel!”

*

Crowley was lying above Aziraphale. His mouth alternated between kissing him roughly and marking up the pale shoulders and neck with his teeth. His hands were everywhere on Aziraphale’s naked body, grabbing, kneading and scratching to renew his claim. When his fingers found their way between the folds hiding his goal, Aziraphale's entrance was already wet and welcoming. As soon as Crowley started teasing the sensitive skin, Aziraphale swayed into his touch, sighing and whimpering helplessly in Crowley’s embrace.

Suddenly Crowley sat up, eliciting a moan of protest from Aziraphale at the loss of contact. Roughly Crowley grabbed his hair and pulled him up, too.

“You’ve denied me for quite a while angel,” he growled deeply. “You should make up for it, don’t you think?”

None too gently he pushed Aziraphale down. Aziraphale, always one to think fast, understood at once and blushed. But he obediently sank down and opened his mouth. As soon as Aziraphale’s lips parted, Crowley pushed his length in while at the same time pressing Aziraphale’s head down. With a deep moan of pleasure he watched the lips wrapping around his member. He held Aziraphale in place while he mercilessly started to fuck his mouth. He stared down into the deep blue eyes that looked back at him innocently while Aziraphale obediently continued sucking his cock. The view and the sensation caused Crowley’s hips to twitch involuntarily and he could not help groaning uncontrolled. Watching Aziraphale, he found the angel looking a bit too smug about that and Crowley pushed in deeper and harder. Aziraphale choked when Crowley’s member hit the back of his throat which drew a dark chuckle from the demon.

“Too much for you, angel?” he purred. “It’s your own fault. You kept me waiting for decades. I should come in that sweet mouth of yours, shouldn’t I? Spill my load down your throat. Leave that tight pussy dripping and wanting.”

The following whimper had Crowley smirking. His threat was hollow of course. Too much had he missed Aziraphale clenching around him while crying out in bliss. He pulled Aziraphale up and into another bruising kiss. His own taste on Aziraphale’s tongue was the last straw and with a growl Crowley pushed Aziraphale back. A snap of Crowley’s fingers secured Aziraphale’s wrists at the headboard with the help of the trusted shadows and Aziraphale gasped in surprise.

Crowley paid it no mind. His tongue was in Aziraphale’s mouth again within the blink of an eye while he forced the angel’s legs apart. His cock brushed along the sensitive area between the vulva’s lips making Aziraphale shiver and moan. Crowley broke the kiss.

“Ready for me, angel?” he asked, way calmer than he felt.

“Yes, Crowley, pl…ahhh.”

After hearing yes, Crowley no longer listened. Roughly he entered Aziraphale and slid in effortlessly.

_Finally_ he thought and maybe he said it. Everything from there on was a blur. He thrusted into Aziraphale’s pussy relentlessly, not ever pausing, not slowing down, never letting up. Whatever filthy endearment came to his mind, he whispered into Aziraphale’s ear while the angel could only moan and beg incoherently.

None of the two would have been able to tell how much time had passed when Crowley’s movements became uneven and his breath ragged. But with one final vicious thrust into Aziraphale’s cunt and an equally vicious bite into his neck, Crowley climaxed. The feeling of Crowley’s hot seed filling him up pushed Aziraphale over the edge as well and shortly after they both lay side by side, breathing heavily.

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale who stared at the ceiling. Delightedly the demon admired the marks he had left and satisfied took in his own smell emanating from the other’s body. As always he made sure Aziraphale was warm and comfortable before getting dressed and leaving. When he stepped out to the streets of London, he had the feeling that things were looking up again.

[8] Crowley had tried. No effect but a mild diarrhea – probably the aardvark blood.

[9] And would probably demand the sword back when Crowley showed up with it.

[10] It was, in fact, an unfair warning. They planned on killing Aziraphale so even if they had run from the bomb, Crowley would have found them.

[11] He had decided to just leave Excalibur on the rack and carry the animal over.


	7. Doubts

The end of the world came too soon. Well, of course it did. Every human would agree that no matter when it came, it should have been later. But Crowley had not yet managed to erase Hell’s claim on his soul. Sure, there was a chance he could just slip away in the heat of the battle and if he left this reality, they could not track him. It would be hard to persuade the angel to follow him though.

And, if he was completely honest, he did not want the world to end. He did not want time to stop and humanity to go extinct. Something seemed to be wrong with him because after his talk with Hastur and Ligur, he could not stop imagining the life of every human he came across.

Postmen, waiters, cab drivers, mothers, fathers, kids. Thousands of lives touching other lives, full of love, laughter, tears, hopes, dreams, goals – full of meaning. But all about to be rendered meaningless for… for what exactly? What was wrong with him? Armageddon meant that he was in deep shit himself. And yet he could not help frowning when he saw the happy couple on the bench smiling dopily at the ultrasound image of their unborn baby.

Annoyed he sank down on the park bench, trying to focus. In his mind he went through everything he wanted to say to Aziraphale. Unfortunately said mind went blank when he heard Aziraphale’s sweet voice happily say: “Congratulations!”

Good naturedly Crowley rolled his eyes. Of course Aziraphale had spotted the parents to be and beamed brightly at them. They thanked him happily for his good wishes and Crowley felt the divine power when Aziraphale with a subtle gesture blessed the young mother before bowing politely and bidding his good bye.

Unsurprisingly Aziraphale was being a bit difficult about interfering with the Great Plan, but he accepted an invitation to lunch which was a good starting point of reminding Aziraphale why he should help Crowley to keep the world turning. And Crowley saw how the prospect of losing good food, wine, music and of course books forever, had Aziraphale quarrel with Earth’s unpleasant fate. But it was Crowley reminding him of all the innocent creature’s – human or not – that had Aziraphale outright condemn said faith – and the promise of a future with regular performances of the “Sound of Music”. Just a little push in the right direction now.

“I’m an angel, I can’t interfere with the divine plan,” Aziraphale said doubtfully.

“What about diabolical ones?”

“What?”

“Well, it’s _my_ job to raise the Antichrist, teach him to be what Hell wants him to be,” Crowley explained, looking at his counterpart pointedly.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened.

“And it is – since the beginning of time – _my_ job to thwart you!” he finished Crowley’s thought.

“Exactly,” Crowley grinned. “Heaven can’t blame you for stopping my diabolical plans.”

“So, we both try to influence the boy?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yes,” Crowley nodded. “I throw all my evilness at him, you throw all your cuten… goodness at him and we cancel each other out. He becomes a normal boy that steals apples but also helps old ladies across the street. And normal boys don’t start any apocalypses.”

“Is there a correct plural of ‘apocalypse’?” Aziraphale pondered. “Doesn’t sound logical.”

“If we’re doing it right, angel,” smirked Crowley. “There won’t even be a singular of it.”

“How exactly are we doing it?”

“I looked into that diplomat,” Crowley said. “His wife and he are looking for a nanny and a gardener. You and I get us these jobs. That gets us close enough to the kid. We’ll be his godparents, sort of. Overseeing his upbringing.”

“It might work,” Aziraphale smiled happily. “Godparents! I’ll be damned.”

“It’s not that bad when you get used to it.”

The joke earned Crowley a soft if slightly disapproving look. But Crowley was too happy to stop grinning. They could prevent Armageddon. If they kept Earth going, he did not need the stupid ritual.

Elegantly he pushed himself up and offered his hand to Aziraphale.

“How about that?” he suggested seductively. “You and I go upstairs and… relax a little. And tomorrow morning we drive to the Dowling’s house and apply for the jobs.”

“So, you... you’ll stay?” Aziraphale asked, taking the outstretched hand.

“I thought so, yes,” Crowley shrugged. “Wouldn’t make much sense to return to Mayfair if we could be going together first thing in the morning.”

“Yes,” smiled Aziraphale. “Sounds reasonable.”

“’Reasonable’ is my middle name,” Crowley stated.

“Wait, you do know that ‘reasonable’ doesn’t begin with a ‘J’, right?” Aziraphale asked condescendingly with one raised eyebrow.

When Crowley rolled his eyes and sighed, he started to giggle. With a growl Crowley picked his counterpart up and threw the snickering angel over his shoulder to carry him upstairs.

“You’re lucky that I know a thousand things you’re better at as at jokes, angel!”

*

Aziraphale felt a bit guilty for all the minor inconveniences that kept every competitor for the jobs of the nanny for Warlock and the gardener away. But it was to save the whole world so he was sure had the people in question known, they would have understood.

It was nice working so closely and regularly with Crowley. He looked very beautiful as Nanny Ashtoreth and Aziraphale several times had to calm himself when he saw how the male staff and some of the female staff, too, stared at her. It almost had him regret the rather unappealing disguise he had chosen. Then again, he was here to save the world, not to impress Crowley.

It worked rather well. Warlock, for the son of Satan at least, was a nice boy. He did over the years develop some weird views, but Aziraphale knew that most of them stemmed from the influence of a certain nanny. Warlock showed a lot of interest in animals and more than once Aziraphale was under the impression that a world full of animals would have much less to fear from the boy than a world run by humans. Warlock would nurse wounded birds, cats, dogs and even lady bugs back to health, but when the son of his father’s colleague broke his ankle, he just said: “If he is too dumb to climb a tree, he shouldn’t do it.”

But Crowley was right. The child seemed to become a normal boy and normal boys don’t end the world. They don’t want it to end. They want to keep running in the woods, play in the garden, play pranks and paint dirty doodles on walls or windows.

So it was not without pride that Aziraphale a few years later told the Archangels about the Antichrist’s tendency towards the light.[12]

Even when they were still applauding, Aziraphale knew that they did not appreciate it. But they also did not disapprove of it. They did not care. They did not take it seriously. They did not take _him_ seriously.

“Don’t be too disappointed when you fail, Aziraphale,” Gabriel told him in his most motivating voice. “The journey is the destination.”

The Archangels smiled at him, Gabriel patted his back and he was left alone.

Gloomily he sat on the bus later that day. At one stop he spotted the familiar red hair and could not help his heart skipping a beat even after all these years. As agreed on, he did not wave or smile at Crowley but stared at his newspaper.

“The boy’s too normal,” Crowley whispered as he sat down behind Aziraphale.

“How can he be too normal, Crowley?” asked Aziraphale. “We are doing this so the heavenly influences balance out the hellish. ‘Normal’ is what we are aiming for.”

“We are working on his moral values, angel,” Crowley corrected. “His powers should be there regardless. He is Lucifer’s son. Being powerful should not depend on being Good or Evil.”

“Well, maybe it is a certain evil urge or thought or something like that which triggers his powers,” Aziraphale suggested. “They are there but dormant until the boy feels the need to kill or torture somebody.”

“Maybe,” Crowley said. “Could be we can keep his powers completely in check.”

“Crowley? What happens if he comes to his full power?” Aziraphale wanted to know. “How do we stop him then?”

Crowley hesitated. But then he put a calming hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” he assured and then he grinned: “Hey, how about a few drinks at the gardener’s house tonight? I’d like to see the rumor mill run over when ‘Nanny Ashtoreth’ is seen at ‘Brother Francis’’ abode.”

“Scandalous!” Aziraphale joked and buried his nose in the newspaper to hide his blush.

Unfortunately their evening plans were upset by a last minute appointment Ambassador Dowling had to leave for. His wife was at a charity gala which left only Nanny Ashtoreth to take care for the boy.

Aziraphale was disappointed since after his depressing encounter with the Archangels he would have loved to talk to Crowley about it. The demon always had respected Aziraphale’s work and would be able to counterbalance the Archangels’ indifference. Spending a few hours in his arms afterward was not a bad prospect as well. And maybe Crowley would have even stayed until morning and if only to shock the nosy members of the staff.

“Is everything alright, Brother Francis?” a friendly voice asked.

Aziraphale turned around and smiled when he spotted Charlotte, the Dowling’s cook, with a covered plate in her hand. She was a pretty woman of middle age with strawberry blonde hair and an appealing curvy figure. Aziraphale had seen Crowley watch her several times. And still it was impossible for him to hold a grudge against the nice lady. Her dark green eyes always shone with warmth and love, she was friendly to everyone and yet by no means a pushover.

“Oh yes, Charlotte, dear,” he said, still smiling. “I’m fine.”

She laughed melodiously and shook her head, making her curls dance around her face.

“God bless a man whose greatest fault is that he is bad liar,” she said happily. “Now come on, who put a frown on that usually so happy face?”

Aziraphale sighed.

“My family,” he said since it was the closest to the truth. “We met today and talked. They don’t respect my work.”

“Oh, that is outrageous,” she said, genuinely upset. “You are wonderful at what you do! I have never seen that garden so alive.”

“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale smiled. “But I think it is not so much that they think I’m not good at my job. It’s more that they think it is a waste of time to do it. An inferior work, if you will.”

“No offense, Brother Francis,” she said in a voice that indicated that she was going to be absolutely offensive. “But it sounds to me like your family is a bunch of snobs and that it is them who are not worth your time!”

“You may have a point there,” Aziraphale chuckled. “But they are my family.”

“Which makes it the more admirable that you do what you believe in, no matter what they say!” Charlotte said resolutely. “I just hate to see you downcast because of them.”

“Ah, don’t you worry,” he assured her. “I’ll just need some time to calm down.”

A mischievous smile spread across Charlotte’s pretty features.

“And I might have just the thing to speed that up.” With that she uncovered the plate she was carrying to reveal the half of a homemade cheesecake. “Mister Dowling’s guests this afternoon were not very hungry it seems. Of course the staff was on the leftovers like a bunch of vultures. But it was not my first hot battle at a cold buffet.”

“Oh, I love your cheesecake, Charlotte,” Aziraphale beamed at her.

“I know,” she said and handed him a fork.

“You are a darling, Charlotte,” he smiled. “But I can’t possibly eat half a cheesecake on my own.”[13]

“And you don’t have to!” She produced a second fork and giggled.

Happily Aziraphale took off his coat and put it on the grass beneath a blooming rosebush. Gallantly he gestured her to sit on it and she complied. His own clothes were not exactly clean anyway and unlike her he could miracle any dirt away later. So he just sat cross-legged on the grass.

Over sharing the cheesecake they talked about families and what a pest they can be, about the Dowlings and whatever came to mind. They still were laughing and talking when the sun set and none of them noticed Nanny Ashtoreth watching them from the window in Warlock’s bedroom.

*

Crowley rubbed his eyes and looked up at the pile of documents in front of him. He groaned. A few days after his report, Dagon had called him back to fill out some overdue paperwork. And he would really really really rather be with Aziraphale now. For one to keep that annoying cook away from him, for two to find out what had him so down and for three to have sex. Impending world ending was depressing and fucking an angel was a so much better counterweight than filling out Dagon’s forms.

He turned to her desk, planning to convince her to drop it since in a few years the world would be ending and her files being in order probably would not be top priority then. But he found that she had left her office and so he stepped into the corridor to search for her.

Through the door he saw her with Lord Beelzebub. The two of them stood very closely together and talked, barely noticing that they blocked most of the corridor, making it hard for others to pass. After a while Beelzebub put a firm hand on Dagon’s shoulder and suddenly the Lord of the Files wore an expression Crowley had seen before. Several times. On Aziraphale’s face when the angel looked at him. It did not look half as endearing on Dagon’s face of course. Beelzebub whispered something in Dagon’s ear, the Lord of the Files nodded and walked towards her office. Crowley should have rushed back in, too, upon seeing that, but he was too caught up in Beelzebub’s reaction. When Dagon turned to leave, the Prince of Hell lingered for a moment and stared after her. And then suddenly Crowley saw it. A smile. A smile formed on Lord Beelzebub’s face. The Lord of the Flies smiled at somebody else without further motive. It was soft, friendly and non-threatening.

Dagon almost ran into Crowley when she arrived at the door.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Already done?”

“Ehm, no,” Crowley admitted. “I was looking for you because I have a question.”

“If it has anything to do with me letting you off the hook, the answer is no!” she told him.

“Aww, come on, Dagon,” he whined. “I have an Antichrist to raise!”

“I have Hell’s files to keep in order.”

“But…”

“No!”

“Fine…” Crowley let himself fall back into his chair at the too low table while Dagon sat down at her desk.

Crowley tried to focus on his documents. But when it was not thoughts of Aziraphale that distracted him, his mind would drift to the scene in the corridor. Something about it was off. Or maybe it was not. How they had looked at each other. She might kill him, but Crowley had to inquire.

“Sooooooo,” he said to get Dagon’s attention which he got in the form of an annoyed sigh and an equally annoyed facial expression.

“You and Beelzebub,” he said unfazed.

“What about us?” Dagon shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“You’re close.”

“She trusts me and respects my work.” The Lord of the Files turned away and let her hair fall down so that Crowley could no longer see her face.

“As she should,” Crowley said firmly. “But beyond that? I mean, just now you were almost cuddling out there.”

“We were talking about sensitive matters, Crowley!” Dagon insisted. “Not everyone needed to hear that.”

“Well, it’s not only that, you also…”

“This is none of your business!”

“So there is something?”

“What?”

“Well, if _this_ is none of my business, there has to be a ‘this’ that is none of my business, right?”

“Do your work!”

“Can’t! Curiosity is killing me!” Crowley threw his hands up dramatically at that.

Dagon started massaging her temples. She always did that when she found someone – mostly Crowley – to be especially annoying.

“If you must know…,” she started.

“Oh, I must!” Crowley nodded.

“We help each other,” she said and gestured wildly with her left. “Let off some steam sometimes. Stress relief, if you will.”

“Oh,” Crowley just said.

“Yes, now you know,” Dagon spoke, again hiding behind her hair. “Go back to work.”

“Now I’m too stunned to work.”

Exasperated Dagon groaned and let her head fall into her hands.

“It’s not a big deal, Crowley,” she told him, her voice muffled. “I bet she does this with others, too.”

Crowley shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” he said genuinely.

At that Dagon’s head snapped up and she looked at him so he could see that her face was less pale than usual.

“You don’t?” she asked.

“Nah, she trusts nobody else enough.”

“Hm,” Dagon only made and turned back to her work.

For a while Crowley fiddled with his quill, thinking about the scene in the corridor, considering her words and watching her posture.

“So, it’s not more?” he finally asked.

“More?” Dagon repeated incredulously. “I just told you that we are… you know.”

“Fucking, yeah, I got that,” Crowley nodded. “I mean…” He hesistated for a second but then decided to risk it. “Love.”

Dagon snorted.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Crowley,” she exclaimed. “Demons can’t love.”

“Says who?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who says that?” Crowley insisted.

“I don’t know who says that,” Dagon laughed. “Nobody _has_ to say it because it goes without saying.”

“Really? Why?” Crowley did not let it go. “Angels can love, we all were angels once.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“So?” Crowley shrugged. “I was there. I remember it like it was yesterday. When we Fell. Michael and Lucifer were fighting. I was close by, kicking Gabriel’s butt.”

“I was there, too,” Dagon reminded him. “Gabriel was kicking _your_ butt!”

“What? I had him exactly where I wanted him!”

“You were lying on the floor and he was pressing his sword down on yours, getting closer to your throat with every second.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree there,” Crowley waved dismissively. “It’s not the point right now.”

“You have point right now?” Dagon snorted.

“Yes! My point is that everything came to a halt when God flooded Michael with the power she needed to beat Lucifer,” Crowley said. “I remember clear as day how Michael disarmed him, grabbed him and lifted him up. And before she tossed him out and he pulled us all with him like a magnet, she said: ‘Lucifer, you and your followers are banished from Heaven and your names shall be erased from Heaven’s books’!”

“And?” Dagon inquired.

“And? She did not say anything like ‘and you hereby lose your ability to love’.”

Dagon stared at Crowley. After a moment she cleared her throat.

“I guess you’re right,” she admitted. “Nobody ever said that, but maybe it’s just that as demons we have no use for it?”

“Pfff, humans have no longer any use for their caecum and they still have it,” Crowley said.

“Interesting analogy, Crowley,” Dagon answered with a raised brow. “Keep in mind that the best thing a human can hope for their caecum to accomplish is nothing. If they are unlucky it gets inflamed and kills them.”

“Okay, maybe it’s not the best comparison,” Crowley admitted.

“Or maybe it is perfect,” Dagon said with an unreadable expression. “I think both of us would be better advised not to philosophize about demons’ ability to love.”

Sighing she turned back to her work.

“Enough of that,” she decided and with one last pointed look at him she said: “It’s better for both of us to never bring that up again. With nobody!” 

[12] Sure, his and Crowley’s goal was a draw between Good and Evil on the boy’s soul, but since as the Antichrist Warlock should be Evil, a draw was strictly speaking a tendency towards Good.

[13] That was a lie. Aziraphale absolutely could.


	8. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two apologies  
1\. I know that chapter is shorter than usual. But the events are important and did not really fit in the last chapter nor in the next so it felt better to put them in an extra chapter  
2\. This is not proofread yet. The Archive is currently acting up a bit (as it seems not only for me) and I am just happy that it works atm so I put the chapter up now and will start proofreading then. Please excuse if you find mistakes.

“Nanny Ashtoreth” was passing by the kitchen when she heard the cook’s pleasant voice laugh that sickenly sweet laughter of hers.

“Brother Francis, you are crazy!” she giggled excitedly.

“Dear lady, it is a bit far-fetched to doubt a man’s sanity for bringing flowers to a pretty woman,” sounded Aziraphale’s voice.

That was enough to make Crowley frown and change her direction to steer towards the kitchen. There she saw Aziraphale carrying a huge planter with a rosebush in it. Charlotte smiled brightly at him and shook her head good naturedly.

“There was silly old me thinking this was the kitchen,” Crowley spoke in her seductive Nanny Ashtoreth voice. “And I find myself in the greenhouse.”

“One rosebush hardly makes a greenhouse, Miss Ashtoreth,” laughed the cook. “Even though I have to wonder why Brother Francis here carries them into my kitchen.”

“You wanted them,” Aziraphale insisted.

“No, I just said it’s a pity Mrs. Dowling does not want them anymore,” Charlotte gave back. “Because they are so pretty.”

“Well, now they are yours,” Aziraphale smiled.

“Oh, I am uncertain if that kind of rose will survive long in that planter, Brother Francis,” Crowley said sweetly.

“Ah, don’t you worry, my dear.” Aziraphale winked at her. “I _made sure_ they will be fine.”

Stepping closer Crowley could feel the divine power engulfing the bush. Aziraphale really had made sure the flowers stayed fresh and beautiful for Charlotte by using a fucking miracle.

“I love them,” the cook beamed at Aziraphale but asked worriedly: “Is it really alright?”

“I asked Mrs. Dowling,” Aziraphale assured her. “She wants a fountain were the roses grew and wants them nowhere else instead.”

“Well then,” Charlotte said and blushed a bit. “My garden is very small. But maybe you could help me find a good spot for them. Maybe this Saturday?”

“I don’t see why n…” Aziraphale started, but Crowley cleared her throat.

“Oh, it’s not my place to make decisions over your schedule, Brother Francis,” she said. “But I’m going to the Book Fair on Saturday with Warlock and the boy asked whether you would come along. He just adores you, you know?”

“He does?” Aziraphale asked surprised.

“How could he not?” Charlotte laughed before Crowley had a chance to answer. “You are always so sweet with him.”

“Yes, you are,” Crowley confirmed, her smile a little bit too bright.

“Oh, well then,” Aziraphale shrugged. “I hope you don’t mind, Charlotte.”

“Of course not,” the cook smiled. “My neighbor used to work as a florist. I’ll ask her. You come some other day to see if she picked well.”

“Alright,” smiled Aziraphale. “Well, Miss Ashtoreth, if it means so much to the boy, I’d love to accompany you two. I sure do enjoy Book Fairs.”

“I know,” Crowley said but corrected herself quickly. “I mean, I had assumed you were a well-read man.”

"If the lovely ladies excuse me now, I have a garden to attend to.” Aziraphale bid his farewell with a smile.

Crowley rolled her eyes. She knew that Aziraphale did basically nothing but be present in the garden. Flora just came to life and bloomed in his presence and all kinds of fauna loved to be close to him and were drawn in. If Aziraphale had wanted – and if it would not raise suspicion – he could spend the whole day sitting in the shadow of a tree and drink cocoa and still it would be like Eden out there. Well, almost like Eden. Nobody ever had gotten the apple trees as beautiful as God had.

When Aziraphale had gone, Crowley with a sweet smile turned to Charlotte.

“Excuse my curiosity, darling,” she said conspiratorially. “But why him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there seems to be something between the two of you.”

“Not that it is any of your business,” Charlotte answered, turning her attention to the soup on the oven. “But if there was – why not him?”

“Oh, not to be rude.” Crowley made a placating gesture. “But he is not exactly an avatar of male beauty, is he?”

“He is such a sweet person,” the cook smiled, her gaze wandering towards the window. “It hardly matters.”

Crowley rolled her eyes.

“Maybe,” she said. “But let’s take, I don’t know, Mr. Clark for example. He is a sweet person, too, and very handsome. So…”

Charlotte scoffed and shook her head.

“Of course,” she chuckled without humor. “I should have known that the likes of _you_ can’t stand losing.”

“Excuse me?” Crowley said, an eyebrow raised. “What likes of me?”

Charlotte turned around to face Crowley and gestured over her.

“The gorgeous tall skinny beauty model like, of course,” she answered. “You could have every man you want, they all just wait for you to say the word to do your bidding.”

“What do you…?”

“And then there is one man out of thousands who doesn’t look at you but at the plain short chubby one instead,” she continued, now gesturing over her own body. “And you just can’t stand it. I’m not an idiot, Miss Ashtoreth. Tell me you find him unattractive all you want. I know you like him, too. But sorry, I won’t give up on him so easily.”

For a moment Crowley did not know how to react. Speechless she stared at Charlotte who just huffed and turned back to the oven. Then Crowley collected herself and snapped her fingers.

“Listen now” she ordered and Charlotte did because she had to. “Number one, Mr. Clark will finally muster up the courage to ask you out tonight. He is nice, clever and has a good job. He is Dowling’s secretary so you’ll see each other often enough but not too often. Just give him a chance. If he’s not for you, look for someone else. You can’t have Brother Francis though. He is mine! Got that?”

“Yes,” Charlotte nodded, eyes glassy.

“Good girl,” Crowley commended and then continued with exasperation: “And number two: You’re not plain. You’re fucking gorgeous. These pretty curls, your beautiful eyes and those amazing curves. I definitely thought about bending you over that kitchen table. But I can’t… because I… because I have an apocalypse to prevent, right, that’s it. Give yourself some credit, lady! Got that?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said again.

“Great.” Crowley snapped her fingers once more and Charlotte was master of her senses again.

“I…” The cook looked around confused. “Oh, sorry, Nanny Ashtoreth. Did you say something?”

“Oh, I just said that Brother Francis really is a darling,” Crowley smiled.

To her dismay, Charlotte smiled back.

“He is indeed,” she said.

Frowning Crowley had to accept that being fond of or maybe even in love with Aziraphale did not just disappear with some demonic mind influence. He could just hope that Mr. Clark would make the best of his chance with the pretty cook and keep her away from Aziraphale.

After making sure Horace Clark, a handsome but little clumsy and fussy guy, really finally had the balls to ask Charlotte out and she really would accept, Nanny Ashtoreth left the house, Nanny Ashtoreth entered the less trafficked part of the Dowling’s garden and Anthony J Crowley reached the gardener’s little cottage.

Crowley could not help the strange feeling in his gut at the thought of Aziraphale being possibly sad or disappointed when he heard about Charlotte and Horace. But he told himself it was for the best. Aziraphale got too attached too fast and they might have to leave Earth behind soon, humans died so fast and even if Charlotte was a fine catch, she could never take care of Aziraphale as Crowley could.

Crowley knocked. For a moment there was silence, then he heard Brother Francis’ voice: “Yes, please?”

“It’s me, Aziraphale,” Crowley let him know.

“Oh good, I just miracled myself to… well myself again,” Aziraphale chuckled as he opened the door as his usual self. His pretty features were no longer dominated by the huge teeth line he had picked for his disguise and his old-fashioned tartan set had replaced the gardening clothes.

Smiling he stepped aside and gestured Crowley in. The interior was cozy. Crowley stepped right into an outdated kitchen-diner. A small hearth was installed in one corner and a set of four chairs were arranged around an old table. To the east a closed door led presumably to the bed room and under a window on the opposite side stood a worn but cozy sofa next to a small side table. There Crowley saw a white winged mug[14] and an old but well-preserved edition of “Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats”.

“All settled for a cozy evening I see,” Crowley said, unsure how to start this conversation or whether or not to back out.

But no! Aziraphale was his and the sooner his angel got the silly human woman out of his head the better.

“Ehm, angel?” Crowley tried to sound casual. “That lady, Charlotte, you know the cook?”

“Of course I know Charlotte, silly,” Aziraphale answered condescendingly. “We both talked to her not even two hours ago.”

“Right, yes, listen,” Crowley said. “I coincidentally heard how that secretary, Clark, I think, asked her out… and she said yes.”

At first Aziraphale gave Crowley a confused look but then his expression suddenly brightened.

“Oh really?” he exclaimed happily. “He really likes her a lot and he is a good man. And I’m glad she accepted. To be honest…” He looked at Crowley conspiratorially and giggled a bit. “I was beginning to think she has developed an infatuation with me.”

“Have you now?” Crowley sighed.

“Yes, but we both know I’m no expert on such matters,” Aziraphale smiled. “It’s rather unlikely a human would fall for me – especially in that disguise.”

“Excuse me?” Crowley said in disbelief. “Where you around the last 6000 years? Humans fell for you left and right. I would know because it was a lot of work to keep them away!”

“What?” Aziraphale exclaimed. “How…? Why…? Crowley!”

“What? Someone had to protect you!”

“From people who were in love me? That doesn’t make sense!”

“It’s not that their intentions were all pure, angel!”

“Oh, and yours were?”

“I said it before: I never made any promises,” Crowley insisted. “And I always took good care of you.”

“Well, those people obviously never had the chance to make any promises,” Aziraphale said. “Or to take care of me.”

Growling Crowley got into Aziraphale’s space.

“Why are you so pissed about that, angel?” He hissed as he crowded Aziraphale against the door to the bedroom. “Was there someone among them that had piqued your interest?”

“That’s not the point, Crowley,” Aziraphale retorted.

“But, angel, I want to know if there was somebody you wanted to spread your legs for,” Crowley said threateningly. “Wonder what your type is. Dark, tall, handsome? Blond, muscular and striking? Or red-blond, green eyes and hot curves?”

Aziraphale gaped at him, his eyes suddenly widening in understanding.

“Did you set up Charlotte with Mr. Clark because you thought she and I were falling in love?”

“What if I did?” Crowley’s face was now only an inch away from Aziraphale’s as he snarled in the angel’s ear. “Then what?”

“You have no right to do that,” Aziraphale said, trying to push Crowley away.

“I had to!” Crowley insisted, holding Aziraphale in place.

“Why?” Aziraphale demanded to know.

“Because I… I… you are mine!” Crowley sputtered.

Aziraphale swallowed at that. He cast his gaze downwards and sighed.

“I suppose I am,” he said quietly. “But you know that, don’t you? Why make such a fuss then?”

“I… I just wanted…” Crowley was at loss of words when he suddenly noticed how little sense his actions made.

While he still avoided looking at Crowley, Aziraphale addressed him again.

“Since it is so important to you,” he said. “I want you to know that I have never been with someone else. Nor did I want to be.”

Crowley could feel the nervous bobbing of his Adam’s apple while he listened to Aziraphale’s surprisingly calm voice. But he also felt the relief flooding him at the confirmation he had craved for centuries.

“So if you please could stop messing with humans’ lives on my behalf, I’d be very grateful,” Aziraphale continued. “It’s not necessary. You have me. I’m yours.”

After Aziraphale had spoken, Crowley’s hand found its way into Aziraphale’s hair. Gripping the blond curls, not enough to hurt but to hold in place, Crowley stared into Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Swear it, angel.” His voice was demanding as ever, but still it felt like a plea on his tongue.

“I swear,” Aziraphale answered immediately.

“Right. Good.” Crowley felt suddenly a bit embarrassed at his outburst, but could not help his grip tightening and his body pressing closer to Aziraphale’s.

“Do you want to go to the bedroom?” Aziraphale offered.

Instead of answering, Crowley supported Aziraphale’s weight and opened the door that led to his sleeping quarters. Within the blink of an eye they both lay, limbs entangled, on the bed. What followed was like most of their shared nights, if maybe a bit more desperate since it had been a while. But this time after Crowley had taken care of Aziraphale’s comfort and stepped out into the nightly garden of the Dowling family, he felt the weight of the impending apocalypse. Because suddenly he had the eerie impression that his to-do-list had gotten longer, but he could not pinpoint what his new task was.

[14] Crowley had gifted it to Aziraphale as a joke to pull his leg once. But when the angel had looked at him with shining blue eyes full of adoration, he had not found it in himself to tell him that.


	9. Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very proud to publish this as planned because my computer and my cats were sabotaging me while I wrote today. ;)

“We both have been influencing the child for years now,” Aziraphale said in disbelief, fidgeting on the wooden park bench. “And now you want me to kill him in case it didn’t work?”

Crowley swallowed. Aziraphale had a point, of course. It was pretty stupid. If they had wanted that, they could have gone for that solution from the start. But he had really not wanted to kill a baby - or make Aziraphale do it. Deep down inside Crowley knew that he could not have convinced the angel to do that anyway. Just like he knew that Aziraphale would not kill a 10 year old now. Not that Crowley really loved that plan. He had helped raise the boy.

But he could not lose this! All of this. Music, cars, wine, humanity, Earth, Aziraphale. Killing a child that had done nothing yet was not his favorite plan ever, but to save everything? Aziraphale however rejected the idea and insisted on sticking to plan A, waiting if it worked out. Even though Crowley reminded him that if plan A failed, there might be no time to initiate plan B whatever it may be.

“Angel, once he names the Hellhound, he AND the beast will be at full power,” Crowley said.

“Well, you were the one who did not deem it necessary to tell me about the Hellhound sooner,” Aziraphale admonished him. “With some more time I might have found a way to deal with it.”

“If there is no child he can come to…”

“No!” Aziraphale said with finality. “I will not kill Warlock! He is only a child!”

Sometimes it took a while, but in the end Crowley could always get Aziraphale to do as he said. Now however, though he had not really tried yet, Crowley was sure that he could not. Harming innocent creatures, human or not, was a line Aziraphale would never cross. And even the Antichrist was an innocent. Warlock could be a little shit, but he had never hurt anyone. So Aziraphale would not hurt him.

Else he would not be Aziraphale, would he? The angel who had risked a lot of trouble to protect the first humans that were pushed in a hard world when they were nothing but two stupid children. The angel who had sheltered a demon from the first thunderstorm. The angel who had been there for humanity in its darkest hours when the rest of Heaven had looked away.

And the angel who now obviously planned to distract a Hellhound with a magic trick? That could not really be his plan, right? Crowley should have listened better. But he saw Aziraphale pat his pockets, searching for his lucky coin.

“No, no, no, please don’t do your magic act!” he pleaded. “I’m actually begging you! Have you any idea how demeaning that is?”

If Aziraphale had any idea how demeaning that was, he did not care. Enthusiastically as ever he let the coin swirl between his fingers and tried to make it “disappear”. At least Crowley got a nice view on his luscious butt while Aziraphale searched for the coin under the bench. Then Aziraphale with an adorable expression gestured right in front of him before he pulled the coin out from behind Crowley’s ear. Crowley was very grateful for his dark glasses hiding his eyes because he was sure his pupils were embarrassingly wide blown. Getting some privacy at the Dowling’s house was hard and they both were very busy. It had been too long.

Aziraphale was now babbling about his time as a student of J.N. Maskelyne and the fun of magic tricks. And all Crowley could do was wonder how someone could be so annoying and yet so endearing. He looked into Aziraphale’s happy face and made a decision. Yes, they would be at Warlock’s birthday party. They would be there and Crowley would bring his Celestial Sword. He would give the boy 10 seconds to come to terms with the appearance of the Hellhound and send it away. Should Warlock only show the slightest hint of happiness about getting a killer machine for his birthday or should he actually take the words “I call you…” into his mouth, Crowley would kill him.

He would feel bad about it, Hell would want his head for it and word of a Celestial Sword appearing on a child’s birthday party might make its way to the Archangels which would come with another set of troubles. But he would not have Aziraphale march into a war, especially not this War where his kindhearted angel would be up against the most ruthless and cruel fighters in existence. No, he would stop the apocalypse and get Aziraphale to safety, even if he had to drag the angel behind him. It was not that he had never done that anyway.

“So what do you think?” Aziraphale asked.

“About what?”

“About me going undercover as a magician at Warlock’s birthday party and you as a waiter?” Aziraphale said, tone and expression implying that he had said that before and Crowley had not been listening.

“Yeah, sure, good idea, angel,” Crowley nodded and started making plans on how to hide a huge divine claymore in a waiter’s uniform.

*

Most people would be more than happy to announce that NO abysmal beast showed up at the party of their Sort-of-Godchild. And any other day Aziraphale and Crowley would agree. But the appearance of the Hellhound was supposed to be the ultimate test of their success on turning Warlock the Antichrist into a normal boy.

When the Hellhound was 5 minutes late, Crowley gave Aziraphale a sign and they left the party which had turned into a food fight anyway. And Aziraphale did not like food being treated that way. They sat down in Crowley’s car where Crowley gave Aziraphale a sign to be quiet and made a call.

“Crowley? What is it?” A female voice sounded over the speaker. “Shouldn’t you be in the middle of something?”

“Yeah, Dagon, I should, but…”

“Look, Crowley, I know the boy is the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, yada, yada, yada, but I saw the dog when they let him loose,” Dagon interrupted. “It is huge! You should be there and make sure the beast doesn’t eat his new master. We wouldn’t want things to go wrong at the last second, would we?”

“No, no, I’ll keep an eye on them,” Crowley said. “See you later, Dagon.”

“Oh, don’t rub it in,” Dagon said sardonically and the line went dead.

“No dog,” Aziraphale said.

“No dog,” Crowley repeated.

“Wrong boy,” they stated simultaneously.

*

Aziraphale poured Crowley a drink. Crowley took it without a word and downed it.

“Why did the forces of Hell have to drag me into this?” he asked.

It was no question he wanted an answer to, but of course Aziraphale was there to give one.

“Taking a wild guess I’d say it was because you bragged to them how well you were doing,” he said derisively. “You know, for example the Spanish Inquisition, the French Revolution, the two World Wars…”

“The humans thought that all up,” Crowley grumbled. “It’s not my fault.”

“Of course not,” Aziraphale said sarcastically. “But one might – in theory – get the idea that it _is_ your fault that you claimed the credit for it.”

Crowley opened his mouth to tell Aziraphale to better drop that tone when he felt a shift in the atmosphere and smelled something he had never smelled before and yet knew what it was.

“Something has changed,” he stated.

“Oh!” Aziraphale beamed despite the situation. “You noticed? It’s a new cologne. My barber suggested...”

“Not you! I know what you smell like,” Crowley snapped, turning his gaze fast from the pouty expression on Aziraphale’s face. “It’s the Hellhound. He found his master. The Antichrist – wherever he is – has the dog. And he named him. We’re doomed.”

Those last words tumbled out of him and he meant them. But when he turned to face Aziraphale who mumbled “Welcome to the end times”, his determination came back. He would not give up! He could not.

“I need to go home, angel,” he announced. “See you later.”

With that he jumped up from his chair and planned on emanating as much confidence as possible while sauntering to the door. But Aziraphale caught him by the arm before he even made one step. While stepping closer until his chest was flush with Crowley’s, he pleaded with his deep blue eyes fixed on Crowley.

“Can’t you stay?” Aziraphale asked.

As hard as it was, it was necessary. So Crowley gently freed himself from Aziraphale’s grip.

“I might have an idea, okay?” he explained. “But I need to go home for that. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Oh, okay,” Aziraphale said quietly, taking a step back. “I just don’t want to be alone when…”

“We’re not beaten yet, Aziraphale.”

“You said…”

“I know. I’m sorry. It was a…” Crowley gestured while thinking of the right wording. “…temporary lapse in confidence.”

Satisfied with his phrasing, he smirked at Aziraphale who gave him a light smile, too. It did nothing to hide Aziraphale’s anxiousness though.

“I’ll come back for you,” Crowley promised. “Don’t worry.”

He pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead and hurried out the door. The Bentley, loyal as ever, carried him to Mayfair fast and he was home within minutes. Of course he had lied. He did not really have a plan. But whatever plan might save him, had to do with three magical weapons he called his own. The trouble was that he did not know which one. The Hellhound could most likely be felled with the Celestial Claymore – by a reckless to suicidal fighter with a lot of dumb luck. But the Antichrist? Sure, at first one might think a Heavenly weapon should be the best choice. But if the boy was Lucifer’s son, this was no safe bet. Lucifer rarely showed himself, but when he walked the halls of Hell, he was like a beacon. As beautiful and angelic as before the Fall. Nobody knew exactly why. But Dagon’s theory made sense.

_“I’m not sure,” Dagon sighed - annoyed. But Crowley was not fooled. She acted like she hated his questions, but she loved them. She loved using that clever brain of hers to find answers, to form theories and to learn new things._

_“But you have an idea?” Crowley grinned._

_“You know how the angels forgot us, right? Our names, our appearances?” she asked._

_Crowley nodded._

_“Well, they do however remember Lucifer,” Dagon continued. “As a warning for them, a bad example, a frightening memorial.”_

_“And?”_

_“Maybe just like his story is a warning for the angels, his angelic form, his beauty is a punishment for us,” she said. “A reminder of what we lost and can never regain.”_

It was no pleasant thought that God could be so petty to turn her once favorite son into a walking monument of failure. Then again, a lot of Her decisions had been morally questionable at best. But whatever the reason for Lucifer’s state was, Crowley could not be sure how much angel – Archangel even – was still in the Morningstar. And if he did not know whether a Heavenly Weapon could harm Lucifer, the same applied for his son. And there was no way he could carry a Claymore in one hand, a short sword in the other and successfully attack the Antichrist. His intuition told him that Excalibur would be a good choice, but the sword still would not let him wield it. And even if Aziraphale could handle the stubborn weapon, Crowley would not send the angel into that fight.

And of course there was that tiny problem of finding the boy before ANYone could attack him.

Sighing he sank down on his throne. He had tried to hide all his plans from Aziraphale, but maybe it was time to clue him in. After all he was very smart and chances were that he would have an idea about the swords. Perhaps he could even alter that potion.

His decision made, Crowley was about to get up when his TV buzzed and switched itself on. Not to his surprise but to his annoyance it showed the faces of Hastur and Ligur.

“Hey, Crowley,” Ligur said and commended: “Nice chair.”

Crowley made a non-committal noise and turned away.

“Just checking in about the Antichrist,” Ligur continued.

“Great kid,” Crowley grunted, refusing to look at his colleagues. “Takes after his Dad.”

“We have arranged the boy and the Hound to be brought to the Plains of Megiddo,” Hastur said. “The Horsemen will set off for their final ride and Armageddon will begin.”

“Yay,” Crowley pressed out, hoping it to sound believable.

“The final battle, Crowley! We waited for this, we worked for this since the rebellion,” Hastur went on. “We are the Fallen. Never forget that!”

Now Crowley turned to the Duke of Hell, an incredulous expression on his face.

“’Tis not the sort of thing you forget, is it?” he said, frowning.

Hastur leaned closer to the screen and his voice took on a deeper, even more menacing tone.

“I don’t trust you, Crowley,” he rumbled.

“Everything’s going just fine,” Crowley lied and with a snap of his finger turned off the TV.

This action of disrespect would not go over well with the two, but at the moment Crowley did not care. Hastur and Ligur may technically outrank him, but everybody knew that Crowley was the more valuable player for Hell. Especially Hastur knew that. That was why he disliked him which was the reason he distrusted him. Since Hastur’s emotional competence was non-existent, he could not really tell feelings like dislike or distrust apart.

Crowley needed to talk to Aziraphale. He had promised to be back soon and yet he was stalling. He miracled Merlin’s litterbox clean and provided some food for him, but the cat did not even look up. He remained curled up on his favorite spot on the window sill near the furnace. Ungrateful fleabag. The plants did not show enough appreciation for his care either. One of them went into the mincer for having a leafspot, the others were on parole after his inspection.

The phone rang. Without any doubt his gut told Crowley it was Aziraphale. Now or never.

*

The sign was turned and the door unlocked. Maybe opening the shop would distract him.

Aziraphale hated to see Crowley go. They should stay together now. Maybe they could… Well. What could they do? When the War started, they were expected to fight each other. But he would never harm Crowley. Would Crowley harm him? If he had to? Aziraphale did not want to believe that. But maybe it was all wishful thinking. Maybe he just wanted to believe that he was a friend to Crowley. Did he just pathetically cling to this consolation price because Crowley did not love him? No! That could not be. Crowley had always taken care of him. Way more than one would take care of a business partner. Or a sex toy.

Blinking away the gathering tears, Aziraphale tried to calm himself. Not now! He had accepted what he was and what he was not for Crowley. They were friends, partners and sometimes they had sex. That was alright and there was no point to choose today of all days to quarrel with it. Crowley may not love him, but he cared for him. He would never harm him. So in the Final Battle they would either draw straws to determine who killed who to keep up appearance[15] or try to keep away from each other or outright refuse to kill each other and be killed by their comrades – either in the heat of the battle or on purpose for insubordination.

None of these options were very attractive and Aziraphale deeply hoped Crowley had an alternative to offer. Aziraphale smiled. There were a few days left. If someone could come up with a last minute plan to avoid the apocalypse, it was Crowley.

If not, Aziraphale had to save Crowley. Heaven’s plan for their enemies probably did not involve taking prisoners, but sure there was room for mercy if someone asked for it, right? Not that it would be easy to make Crowley beg for mercy but to render him unconscious and beg on his behalf might work. All Aziraphale needed was a good explanation why he pleaded for this demon’s life.

“A good day to you, fellow human!” A too familiar voice spoke behind Aziraphale. “I’d like to purchase one of your material objects.”

The voice belonged to the same man-shaped being as the toothy grin that greeted Aziraphale when he turned to face the newly arrived not-really-customer.

The Archangel Gabriel wore an expression that he obviously believed was a normal human business face. Not that it mattered. He and Sandalphon were a weird pair as they were. Too fake, too stiff, too formally dressed for this part of town and too much acting like they were in a bad roleplay at a customer service training.

So it did not help that Sandalphon specified the “material object” to be a book.

“Of course, gentlemen,” Aziraphale answered after forcing a fake smile on his face and tried to get the two in a quiet corner of his shop.

“I would like to discuss my purchase in private,” Gabriel announced before Aziraphale could get him away from the human customers.

“Yes, because we are buying pornography,” stated Sandalphon. “Something we – as humans – are easily embarrassed by!”

Smiling instead of slapping his forehead was something Aziraphale managed only with effort and not without a certain amount of pride. He gestured the two towards his backroom and cast an apologetic smile at the customers in the shop. The elderly gave him a sympathetic smile while the young students grinned a grin that said “that’s London for you”.

Aziraphale followed the two Archangels.

“Human beings are so easily fooled! Simpletons!” Gabriel giggled and Aziraphale swallowed the “Look who’s talking” that was dancing on his tongue.

Gabriel greeted him by putting his huge hands on his shoulders and patting them. With unease Aziraphale watched the common chocolate brown of his eyes turn into the uncanny purple gaze that seemed to pierce right into his soul.

“I hope you’re okay, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said with what could have been a sympathetic look. “I told you not to be too disappointed when you fail. But hey, you tried and the boy seemed normal for a while. I bet others wouldn’t even have accomplished that. Heck, most wouldn’t even have tried!”

“Thank you, Gabriel,” said Aziraphale. “I just hoped for a different outcome. Armageddon is after all a Hell initiated event. As Heaven’s agent I felt obligated to stop it.”

“You never were a warrior at heart, Aziraphale,” said Sandalphon. His tone was neutral but his expression full of pity. “Else you wouldn’t have clung to that hope.”

“But Sandalphon,” Gabriel admonished. “It is Aziraphale’s quest to thwart the demon Crowley. It’s commendable that he followed that quest until the end, even with the prospect of failing.”

“Of course, Gabriel, I’m sorry,” Sandalphon apologized and did not mean it.

“So,” Gabriel asked. “No problems on your end?”

“Problems? No,” Aziraphale answered. “Why? Is something wrong? I mean, if there is something wrong, I could…”

“No, no, everything’s going according to the divine plan. Just making sure you are okay,” Gabriel smiled. “How was the Hellhound?”

“Very… Hellish?” Aziraphale answered.

“Hellish!” Gabriel laughed. “Good one!”

Sandalphon chimed in and they both patted Aziraphale’s back.

“Thank you for my pornography!” Gabriel called out to maintain his “cover” before pointing at Aziraphale one last time: “Excellent job! Good thing you kept an eye on the boy from the start.”

They left and Aziraphale stared after them for a few seconds, deep lines of thoughts on his forehead.

“I did,” he said confused. “Well,_ almost_ from the start...”

Aziraphale hurried to his phone.

*

For quite a while Crowley just stared at the ringing phone. It was Aziraphale alright. Should he ask him over and then show him his cards? Or should he just say “Hey, angel, let me show you my collection of magical weapons and see what we can do with them.”?

He pondered too long and his answering machine took the call.

“This is Anthony J. Crowley, you know what to do. Do it with style,” his own voice sounded.

“Well, of course I know what to do,” Aziraphale said and Crowley could see him rolling his eyes. “The proper use of a phone is not exactly witchcraft. Well, I suppose even if it was, I would be decent at it since I know quite a lot about the magic of witches so unless the art of the long distance call would be a secret reserved for higher ranked…”

Groaning Crowley grabbed the receiver and sighed: “What is it, angel?”

“Ah, right,” Aziraphale said. “Look, I had visitors. Sandalphon and Gabriel were at the shop.”

At the sound of their names Crowley tensed. He had not seen them since the Fall, but the stories Aziraphale had told him were enough.

“Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” Crowley asked immediately.

“What? No!” Aziraphale answered. “But Gabriel – of all people – had me thinking. We kept an eye on the boy the whole time - after he left the hospital.”

“So?”

“So the only time window were something could have gone wrong is the day he spent at the hospital,” Aziraphale elaborated. “You said, you handed him to a nun and left. Could something have gone wrong?”

“What?” Crowley’s thoughts raced.

“Well,” Aziraphale explained. “At first Warlock was in your car, you had him right under your nose. Later he was at the Dowling’s residence and we both kept an eye on him. Warlock has to be the Antichrist – unless he is not the baby that was in your car.”

Aziraphale had a point. The only logical explanation for the whole mess was that Warlock was not the baby Ligur had handed to him. And that was only possible if… Damn it.

*

“So, you’ve lost the boy,” Aziraphale said as the Bentley raced down Oxford Street.

“_We’_ve lost the boy,” Crowley growled.

“Excuse me, dear,” Aziraphale insisted. “But if my theory is correct – and it’s the only working theory –_ I_ never had the boy. So I couldn’t lose him.”

“I didn’t lose him either then!” Crowley said. “The nuns mislaid him.”

“Dear, we are in this together,” Aziraphale reassured. “But I think we can – watch the road! – agree that _satanic _nuns are not _my _responsibility!”

Stupid angel. Always right. But alright. Maybe he had an idea how to find the boy. As soon as they found him, he would tell Aziraphale about the weapons he had at hand.

“So what now?” he asked.

“We know the boy was born on the same – Pedestrian! – day as Warlock,” Aziraphale explained. “We go to the hospital, look at the records of this day and find the names and addresses of all the other male children born that day.”

“It’s a start,” Crowley admitted grumbling.

“We might need the help of some human agents to check on all the boys,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley shook his head.

“Can’t be too many,” he said. “It’s a small hospital. It was built in exactly that place for that purpose only. Hell took care of Mrs. Dowling going into labor when she visited the opening of the airbase and had sabotaged the construction work on the airbase’s own hospital to make sure she’d end up in the hands of the nuns. A perfect plan.”

“Except for one or two minor details.”

Crowley’s head snapped towards Aziraphale who smugly stared at the road, the corners of his pink lips switching amused. Crowley did not know why, but suddenly felt the need to defend Dagon’s plan.

“Well, it nearly worked,” he said.

“Yes, but something _nearly_ working does not meet the definition of ‘perfect plan’, does it?” Aziraphale gave back in a very self-complacent way.

Oh, this angel was asking for trouble, but Crowley had an Antichrist to find and an apocalypse to prevent.

The closer they got, the more trouble Crowley had to find his way. So he was relieved when he saw a sign telling him that he was very welcome in Tadfield. The verdant wood the road lead through did seem familiar. Then again, Crowley was not good at telling different woods apart.

“Oh my,” Aziraphale suddenly exclaimed and smiled happily.

“What?”

“Love,” Aziraphale beamed. “Someone really loves this place!”

“Pardon?”

“Well, love, dear. The opposite of when you don’t like a place because it’s spooky.”

“Who doesn’t like spooky? Big spooky fan, me!”

“Well, I keep getting those flashes of love, Crowley,” Aziraphale said exasperated. “I don’t know how to better explain it, especially to _you_…”

Crowley gave Aziraphale another sharp look from the side. He did not miss the hurt that shortly flickered in the angel’s eyes, but Aziraphale’s voice was cutting and haughty.

Part of Crowley wanted to haul over, get Aziraphale in the backseat and give him a good old spanking for the tone he had been giving Crowley since the birthday party. Part of him knew that at least the last comment was born out of long buried pain and applying more pain would not help. Crowley took a sharp breath in to calm himself.

“Look, angel,” he said. “I know there are some things you and I have to…”

The unpleasant sound of metal meeting metal disturbed the peace of the woods. A couple of upset birds fluttered away, a fox betook himself to flight and the leaves on the nearby ground rustling flew in every direction when something was tossed into them with great force.

In the Bentley that had come to an abrupt halt, an angel and a demon stared at each other and then at the road.

“You’ve hit something,” Aziraphale said and scrambled out of the car.

“I haven’t. Something hit me,” Crowley grumbled but followed.

[15] Aziraphale was not sure if drawing short meant kill or be killed.


	10. Misdemeanors

Crowley did not like how Aziraphale tutted over the pretty young woman Crowley had hit.[16] Her wounds were healed and the silly angel even had repaired her bike. Why he still must fuss over her, was beyond Crowley.

“I think I hit my head,” the woman groaned, leaning into Aziraphale far more than necessary. “I do not recall Phaeton having gears and I could swear I lost the pump ages ago…”

“Phaeton?” Crowley asked.

“My bike. His name is Phaeton.”

“You sure you hit your head just now?”

“Crowley!”

“Sorry, angel.”

After keeping his disapproving gaze on Crowley for a few seconds, Aziraphale turned back to the woman.

“Okay, dear,” he smiled. “Just to make sure you have no concussion: What’s your name? Where do you live? And how many fingers am I holding up?”

It turned out that the woman went by the illustrious name Anathema Device, lived at a place named Jasmine Cottage in Tadfield and could count to three. For Crowley’s money she was just fine and could be released into the wild again, but of course Aziraphale had a differing opinion.

“You seem unharmed, my dear,” Aziraphale said after his test. “But you’re still a little shaken, I can sense that. We’ll get you to your cottage.”

“No, we don’t,” Crowley said. “We have things to do and places to be.”

“Excuse us for a moment, Miss Device,” Aziraphale told the woman and pulled Crowley aside to scold him. “Anthony J. Crowley, we will not leave a helpless woman alone in the woods.”

“She was alone before she hit me, too,” Crowley whispered back. “She can look after herself. I mean you know that that’s a witch, right?”

“Of course I know that,” Aziraphale hissed offended. “A powerful one, I might add. But she just had an accident.”

“Wait, you can feel her power? I was just going by the weird clothes, the strolling alone in the woods and giving her bike a weird name thing…”

“Anyway, you hit her and she might be in shock,” Aziraphale insisted. “We are giving her a lift and look further afterwards. You’re lost anyway. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’ve known you for millennia and I know what you look like when you _pretend_ to have everything under control. At the moment you have no clue where this hospital is.”

“Well, no, yes, but…where do we put her bike?”

“The bike rack, dear.”

“The Bentley has no…” Crowley started but after taking a look at his car growled lowly: “Angel…”

Aziraphale however was already back at Anathema’s side. The woman had collected all the things that had fallen out of her vehicle’s basket and waited for the two men to finish their argument. Aziraphale smiled at her and helped her gallantly into the backseat. The grumbling demon was left to put the new and improved “Phaeton” on the Bentley’s brand new tartan striped bike rack. Then he got back into his car and turned to his new passenger.

“Where to, Miss Device?” he asked in a saccharine tone.

“What? Ah yes, sure. Down the hill, then to the left,” she said. “Listen, this is my bike, yes? I thought I took the lights off. They needed those double batteries and they got moldy…”

“That’s how pretty ladies get hit by cars in the woods,” Crowley stated. “Because they have no lights on their bikes.”

“You didn’t have your lights on either,” she said.

“True,” Crowley admitted. “But I could have because I didn’t take them off and if someone hits me, my car is between them and my bones. Your ‘Phaeton’ is not a good armor.”

She opened her mouth for a rebuke, but Aziraphale was faster.

“I think this accident is a valuable lesson for all of us,” he stated diplomatically. “We should all be more careful for our own sake and to keep others safe, right?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Anathema nodded, still a bit disordered.

“Whatever,” Crowley grumbled, feeling Aziraphale’s glare on him.

The way to the woman’s cottage was easy enough to find and soon Anathema scrambled out of the backseat. Confused she inspected her bike that conveniently already leant against her garden wall. Crowley rolled his eyes. The extra gears had disappeared, the new lights and pump had not.

“Oh Lord, bless this bike,” he husked in Aziraphale’s ear.

“We can’t let her drive without lights on her velocipede,” Aziraphale hissed back.

“Bicycle.”

“And a pump can become crucial, too.” Aziraphale added before turning his attention to Anathema again. “Do you need further assistance, my dear?”

“No, thanks, Mr…”

“Fell,” Aziraphale bowed lightly.

“Mr. Fell,” Anathema smiled carefully. “I’ll be fine.”

“Say,” Aziraphale asked. “Do you know of a hospital nearby? Run by nuns?”

“A hospital?”

“Yes, in the Tadfield area, but outside the town.”

“I’m not from here, I’m afraid,” she shrugged. “But I did see a large building on one of my walks. Someone said that had to be Tadfield Manor.”

Gratefully Aziraphale smiled at her when she described where to find the place.

“Right. Great,” said Crowley, stepping next to Aziraphale and draping an arm possessively around his shoulders. “I guess we can get on then? Get in, _angel_.”

He emphasized the last word with a pointed look at the woman. He had expected her smile to vanish, but instead it widened and the slight tension that had engulfed her the whole time fell from her.

“Good day, gentlemen,” she said and pushed her bike towards the garden gate.

When they were back in the car, they followed Anathema’s description. Crowley was still tense. He did not like Aziraphale giving that much attention to other people. And he did not like the feeling of the disapproving stare Aziraphale bore into his side.

“What?” he snapped.

“You didn’t have to be so rude to her, Crowley.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t have to be so nice to her! Did you see what she did to my car?”

“No, dear,” Aziraphale said too sweetly. “I didn’t have the chance. Because when I finished fixing the poor lady’s broken bones, you were already done fixing your car.”

“Yeah, well, the Bentley is very sensitive,” Crowley said defensively. “First she gets hit by a bike and then you force that rack on her. She might have some… psychological damage.”

“She spent 9 decades with _you_.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “The damage is already done.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at his counterpart and a low growl sounded from his throat.

“Angel, is it possible that you are looking for…”

“We’re here,” Aziraphale interrupted as a huge stone building appeared at the horizon when the road led them out of the woods.

The convent had changed. A lot of expensive cars were parked nearby and the front yard was more heavily vegetated, not uncultivated though.

But Crowley was sure to be at the right place. He had arrived eleven years ago at night and not in the best emotional state. But now that he entered the building, he recognized the architecture immediately.

“That is the hospital,” he told Aziraphale.

“They sure have a questionable code of conduct for a hospital.” Aziraphale looked through the window and let his eyes wander disapprovingly over the humans who were running, shouting and shooting paintballs at each other.

“Well, it _was _run by satanic nuns,” Crowley pointed out. “I wonder where they went.”

Crowley sauntered to the counter where he found a pile of brochures. He grabbed one, making sure the remaining stack toppled over and the leaflets flew in all directions. After reading a few sentences, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. The place obviously was rentable for management and teamwork training these days. At least that explained the paintball guns. Unsurprisingly the included “Brief History of Tadfield Manor” did not mention the satanic nuns, let alone their current whereabouts.

Frowning Crowley turned to Aziraphale and witnessed a young woman running into the angel.

“Watch where yer goin’, man,” she snapped him, then she yelled at one of her colleagues. “Who’s winnin’ out there?”

“You will all lose,” Crowley growled after her and snapped his fingers.

Immediately the noises outside changed. The fired shots were louder and echoed longer, the screams and yells turned from cheerful and excited to frantic and panicking.

“What did you do?” asked Aziraphale wide-eyed.

“Just gave them what they wanted,” Crowley grinned.

“And that would be?”

“Real guns.”

“What? You can’t just…”

“’Course I can, angel,” Crowley shrugged. “I just did. And so can they. Free will and all that. Think of it as a microcosm of the universe.”

With a triumphant grin he wanted to saunter further along the corridor, but Aziraphale stopped him.

“They’re murdering each other out there?” he asked, a pleading expression on his face.

Inwardly Crowley groaned. He had wanted to make the angel sweat a bit as payback for the smug and sassy behavior. But now, staring into Aziraphale’s face that dripped with concern and sympathy for the humans in the front yard, his resolve cracked and broke. Those people did not deserve Aziraphale’s love. Then again, Aziraphale had loved beings far more unworthy than them.

“No,” Crowley said pacifyingly. “Nobody dies. They’re all having miraculous escapes.”

“Ah, what a relief,” Aziraphale sighed and gave Crowley an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, dear. I should have known you wouldn’t do such a vicious thing.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Crowley asked offended. “If you think about it, that is even more vicious! In the aftermath they will have to deal with colleagues who tried to murder them and not to forget the fact that _they_ were about to murder their colleagues, too.”

“Oh. Of… of course,” Aziraphale spoke a little too enthusiastically, accompanied by a way too eager nod. “That’s really malicious. You’re very evil! I know that.”

Then Aziraphale turned to continue the way down the corridor, but Crowley did not miss the small smile playing along his lips, only a moment before Aziraphale faced in the other direction. It seemed that Crowley's feet moved on their own as they hurried to catch up with Aziraphale, just as his hands who grabbed the lapels of the cream colored coat to push Aziraphale up against the nearest wall.

“Are you sure you know that?” Crowley asked in a dark voice. “Because _I’m_ not sure you know that.”

“Oh, dear, how could I forget,” Aziraphale answered, not intimidated at all and with a teasing edge to his voice.

“I think I should make sure and remind you.” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s right upper leg to lift it up and brought his own crotch flush against the angel’s.

Even though Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s heart speed up, Aziraphale’s expression remained relaxed.

“The averting of the apocalypse is a rather time sensitive matter, don’t you think? We really should not allow ourselves to get distracted,” he lectured in a calm voice, but Crowley did not miss the longing in the blue eyes staring back at him.

“Oh, I think I can make 10 minutes time,” Crowley whispered into Aziraphale’s ear. “Can’t have you running around underestimating your enemy.”

“You’re not my enemy, Crowley,” Aziraphale answered softly, creating a strange warm sensation in Crowley’s chest.

Crowley swallowed but remained on track.

“Hmmm,” he purred, his free hand grabbing Aziraphale’s neck. “Let’s make sure you remember how lucky you are that I’m not.”

In the weeks before the party the Dowling household had been pretty chaotic, Warlock and his mother had been very demanding and there had been no time for Miss Ashtoreth and Brother Francis to meet in private. The physical need, the urge to put the cheeky angel in his place and the wish for some pleasure no matter how short-lived jumbled Crowley’s priorities up. Forgetting his current quest as well as his whereabouts, he started nipping at Aziraphale’s earlobe first, then moving slowly along the jawline with his lips, the tender kisses in stark contrast to his harsh grip on Aziraphale’s leg and neck.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said with a mixture of admonishment and encouragement.

Finally Crowley’s mouth arrived at Aziraphale’s and met it in uncharacteristic tenderness. Aziraphale’s half-hearted attempt to push him away, did nothing to dose his carnal desires, if anything they flared up at the light pressure to his chest.

“You want me to stop, angel?” he asked with a dark chuckle against the other’s lips.

Aziraphale, his cheeks red by now, hesitated but finally shook his head.

“Thought so,” Crowley smirked and finally, finally after long weeks he kissed his angel. Despite the urgency he savored the moment, starting off with a slow movement of his lips. He smiled lightly when Aziraphale started to become impatient and flicked his tongue over Crowley’s lips while his hips twitched. Caught up in the moment, he only way back in his mind processed the clicking of heels coming closer. Just as Crowley was about to slip his tongue into Aziraphale’s warm mouth, someone nearby cleared their throat. Snarling and ready to rip out said throat, Crowley turned around and faced a familiar looking woman.

“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen,” Sister Mary Loquacious said. “Can I… oh, Master Crowley! What an hon…”

She fell silent after a snap of Crowley’s fingers. As Aziraphale noticed her trance, he tutted disapprovingly.

“Was that necessary?” he asked. “Why not just ask her?”

“Because I don’t know whether or not she is still in contact with someone Downstairs,” Crowley retorted and piped in a parody of a female voice: “Oh, Lord Hastur, funny story! Master Crowley came by, asking for the Antichrist. Now that I think about it, it’s kind of strange that the boy’s guardian doesn’t know where…”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted Aziraphale. “Point taken. Let’s see what she remembers.”

Unfortunately the former nun was no help. Of course she remembered that day. But she was convinced of having swapped the baby Crowley gave her with the ambassador’s son. And any records that might have helped in finding out about other boys born here that day had fallen victim to a “mysterious” fire shortly after the unsuspecting parents had left with the Antichrist.

“Hastur!” Crowley roared.

“Well, is there anything else you remember about the baby? Any details?” Aziraphale asked the woman.

“Oh yes,” Mary nodded eagerly.

“Please tell me.”

“He had lovely little Toesie-Woesies,” Mary sighed with a nostalgic smile.

Aziraphale’s face lit up as Crowley’s fell.

“Let’s go,” Crowley grunted and started walking.

When he noticed Aziraphale not following him, he drew in a sharp breath and turned back. Aziraphale appeared deep in thought, had one hand on the woman’s shoulder while the other was tipping his chin.

“So you’ll wake up having had a lovely dream about kittens. Or puppies? Maybe human babies? Or unicorns?” Aziraphale pondered. “Maybe all of those? Unless of course you’re scared of one of those. Alright, you’ll wake up having had a wonderful dream of kittens, puppies, babies, unicorns minus those you are scared of. Wait, what if you’re scared of all of them? Okay, again. You’ll wake having had a lovely dream…”

“…of whatever you like best,” Crowley interrupted with an impatient growl, snapped his fingers to wake Mary, grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and dragged him out of the convent.

“I said ‘let’s go’,” he hissed in Aziraphale’s ear as they crossed the front yard, now swarming with police, confiscating very real guns.

“Yes, dear, and I chose to ignore it,” Aziraphale gave back.

“I noticed,” Crowley said dangerously.

“Well, we cannot run around, hypnotizing respectable women and just leave them in that state,” Aziraphale pontificated.

“A respectable satanic nun? Really?”

“Former satanic nun.”

“Just get in the car, angel.”

*

“There must be a way to detect him somehow,” Aziraphale said, waving at the waitress in the diner.

“No, he is protected against prying occult forces,” Crowley answered and – upon seeing Aziraphale’s offended look – added: “Or investigating ethereal forces.”

The waitress, a pretty young brunette came over and smiled.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

“I’ll have the strawberry cake, please, dear,” Aziraphale said with a smile.

“Of course,” she nodded kindly before turning to Crowley. “What can I get you, sir?”

“Nothing,” Crowley grunted rudely.

“You’re in luck, sir,” she said with a friendly wink. “That’s today’s special.”

Aziraphale chimed in when she giggled. Crowley just glared.

“Don’t mind him, my dear, he is a bit grumpy,” Aziraphale told the girl in a low voice as if Crowley could not hear him then.

“We all have days like that,” she said sympathetically and left.

Playing with the salt shaker, Crowley fixed his eyes on Aziraphale.

“Really taking care of the ladies today, aren’t you?” he said darkly after a while.

“Excuse me?”

“First the witch, then the nun, now the waitress,” Crowley listed.

“Well, dear,” Aziraphale argued. “The waitress was snapped at, the nun was hypnotized and the witch was hit by a car. All three the deeds of the demon I’m supposed to thwart.”

“Oh, really? I think you’re just…”

“Strawberry cake for you, sir,” the waitress announced, putting a plate in front of Aziraphale.

Crowley could not help but wonder if the spot of whipped cream came heart-shaped for all customers. But before he could comment on it, Aziraphale spoke.

“Maybe another human can find him,” he said thoughtfully, dipping a piece of cake into the cream with his fork. “Humans are good at finding other humans. And at least partly the child is human. Maybe other humans can sense him.”

Then he brought the fork to his mouth and savored the cake with his eyes closed in bliss. Crowley was distracted by a bit of cream in the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth. But when Aziraphale took his napkin to dab at his lips and stared at Crowley expectantly, Crowley answered.

“We’re talking about the Antichrist, angel,” he said impatiently. “Humans are not supposed to find him noteworthy. Suspicion slides off him like water off… off… whatever it is water slides off.”

Aziraphale was leading another bite to his mouth but stopped at Crowley’s tone.

“Well, do you have better ideas then?” he asked provokingly. “Or. One. Single. Better. Idea?”

With that he closed his lips around the cake piece, slowly pulled out the fork and started chewing, his eyes, shining with an unspoken challenge, never leaving Crowley’s. Once again Crowley narrowed his eyes but this time did not leave it at that.

“That’s it,” he simply announced, got out of his chair, put way too much money on the table and grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist to pull him out of the diner.

The fresh evening air did nothing to cool his temper and he dragged Aziraphale towards the car.

“Get in,” he ordered and Aziraphale complied surprisingly quiet.

Crowley jumped into the driver’s seat and started the car. He drove again through the wood area surrounding Tadfield until he found a secluded place. For good measure he performed a veiling miracle before he left the Bentley again. He all but ripped open the passenger door and pulled Aziraphale out.

Only mere seconds later Aziraphale was bend over the bonnet, Crowley keeping him down by pressing a strong hand between his shoulder blades.

“I want you to know, angel,” he said threateningly. “That this is gonna hurt you way more than me!”

Atypically quiet Aziraphale waited. Only a small gasp escaped him when Crowley pulled down his trousers and his underpants with one determined move, exposing his white plump arse to the cold night air and to Crowley’s hungry stare.

With his right hand still at Aziraphale’s back, Crowley played at the cleft between the enticing cheeks with the fingers of his left. They wandered lower and lower, circled around the tight ring of the arsehole for a moment before venturing deeper towards the vagina’s entrance. Crowley smirked. Aziraphale was far from ready to take a cock, but the first tokens of wetness glistened around his cunt. So without giving a warning, he pushed one finger in. Aziraphale whimpered at that and Crowley had to bite back a groan when he heard the sweet noise. Crowley now let his right hand slide along Aziraphale’s spine until it reached the luscious buttocks.

“I will punish you, Aziraphale,” he announced, one finger still sliding inside Aziraphale’s cunt. “And you know why, don’t you?”

Aziraphale turned his head as far as he could and had the nerve to look clueless.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, my dear,” he said.

A loud smack echoed through the woods as Crowley’s right hand slapped across Aziraphale’s arse for the first time that night. A barely audible whine escaped Aziraphale as his head fell forward until his forehead touched the bonnet. His pussy clenched around the index finger of Crowley’s left hand.

“Now, that’s fun,” grinned Crowley.

With vigor he let his one hand drive down Aziraphale’s buttocks several times, taking in the vagina’s reaction with the other.

“You like that, don’t you, little whore?” he growled, applying another set of slaps on both cheeks. “Yes, I think you like it when I put you back in your place. No, you _crave_ it! Isn’t that right?”

Except for some muffled moans and whimpers Aziraphale did not react. But Crowley was not having that. He spanked the pale butt again before pulling his finger out of Aziraphale’s cunt. Aziraphale cried out at the loss and gasped when the hand, smeared with his own juices, grabbed his hair to pull his head up.

“I asked you a question, slut,” Crowley growled in his ear.

“Sorry, dear, here are a few distracting factors at play,” Aziraphale answered primly and way too coherent for Crowley’s liking.

Crowley held Aziraphale’s head up by his hair while striking his buttocks again viciously. Finally Aziraphale cried out. Now Crowley relentlessly hit the angel’s arse until the white flesh turned angry red. Aziraphale did not beg, but he sobbed and cried and when Crowley finally let up, tears streamed down his face.

Humming calmingly, Crowley pressed his lean body against Aziraphale’s soft frame from behind.

“Hey there, angel,” he whispered. “You do remember your word, don’t you?”

Aziraphale nodded sniffling.

“You know you can use it, right?” Crowley asked.

“I’m fine,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Sure? I won’t be upset if you say the word.”

“I know, Crowley.” Aziraphale smiled. “But I don’t need it.”

“Alright.”

Even though Aziraphale seemed genuine, Crowley caressed the sore bottom carefully before grabbing Aziraphale’s shoulders. He pressed his cheek against the angel’s and used his forked tongue to collect the salty tears. All the while his hands soothingly ran up and down Aziraphale’s upper arms.

“A little more cooperative now, angel?” he asked softly.

Aziraphale nodded.

“What was that?”

“Yes, Crowley,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“You’ll be good now?”

“Yes.”

“So answer my question, sweet little whore,” Crowley demanded. “Do you like it when I put you in your place?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?” Crowley growled.

“I… I like it when you put me in my place,” Aziraphale said obediently and after hesitating for a second, he whispered: “Like the little whore that I am.”

Crowley chuckled softly.

“That’s it,” he commended. “Now spread your legs a little further.”

Aziraphale obeyed as far as his trousers, pooled around his ankles, allowed. It was enough for Crowley who didn’t bother pulling his own pants down. He just opened his fly, got his cock out and positioned it at Aziraphale’s entrance.

“Okay, angel?”

“Yes, please!”

With a groan Crowley pushed in the tight wet heat of Aziraphale’s cunt. Feeling the velvety walls clench around his cock, he was reminded of his need. He moaned deeply as his thrusts picked up pace quickly. While placing wet kisses on Aziraphale’s neck, he let one hand reach around the soft body leaning against his car to reach his counterpart’s clit. Carefully circling around it to avoid overstimulation, he took in and read Aziraphale’s reactions. When he found a rhythm that seemed to accommodate Aziraphale’s needs, he kept his ministrations up and tried hitting the sweet spot inside Aziraphale’s vagina in sync with them.

After all this time he had become quite good at understanding the sounds and movements his angel made and when he felt Aziraphale’s climax approaching, he let his hips snap faster and harder into the pliant soft body.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale whimpered. “I’m close!”

“I’m, too,” Crowley chuckled. “Was when we started. Let go for me, angel.”

And Aziraphale obeyed. With Crowley’s name sweetly on his pink lips, he found his release. He cried out, his walls tightened around Crowley’s cock, and his body went rigid before relaxing completely. Crowley followed suit. He circled his arms around Aziraphale and held him close while he spilled himself inside him. After riding out his orgasm, he collapsed above his angel and stayed like this for a while. Forever would have been better, but he knew that Forever was not what it used to be.

[16] Well, the woman said he had hit her. For Crowley he had touched her lightly with the front of his car.


	11. Enlightenment

Now it could not be long until midnight. The woods were dark and cold but the bonnet of the car beneath him was warm and the demon above him burnt hot. Aziraphale did not exactly know what had come over him to needle Crowley that much at the diner. But Crowley’s behavior in the convent had reminded him how susceptible Crowley was to provocation and since the ex-nun had interrupted them, he had decided to top it up a notch.

Of course he knew that they should focus on other things at the moment, but he could not stand the thought of never being in Crowley’s arms again. So he savored the moment as long as it lasted, Heaven, Hell and Earth be damned[17] for a few blissful minutes.

Too soon Crowley groaned and pulled his softening member out of Aziraphale’s body. Despite Aziraphale’s whining of protest Crowley got up and chuckled softly at the pouting angel.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hmm,” he said and without waiting for an answer, he snapped his fingers, miracling them both decent again. Then he pulled Aziraphale up

Leaning against his demon’s shoulder, Aziraphale allowed himself to be led towards the car and gently pushed into the passenger’s seat. He looked at Crowley through a fog of afterglow and exhaustion, earning a self-complacent grin from his counterpart.

“I suppose I have a pliant angel until we’re in Mayfair?” he smirked.

“Mayfair?” Aziraphale repeated surprised while letting his head fall against Crowley’s shoulder. “We’re driving to yours?”

“Ah, yes,” Crowley nodded. “I need to show you something. I have sort of a plan in case we find the boy.”

“That is good, but how do we find him?”

Crowley cleared his throat and was atypically focused on the road.

“I may have dismissed your idea of sending humans after him too soon,” he admitted almost sheepishly. “I have a group of humans at hand who dealt with the supernatural before. They might have a chance.”

At that Aziraphale sat up excitedly. Crowley’s words reminded him of his contact in the Witchfinder army, a secret organization he had been working with for a while now.

“I have something similar,” he told Crowley. “Highly trained agents and no strangers to the weirder things in life either. They could help.”

“Yes, good,” Crowley nodded. “Let’s not get them together though. My people aren’t exactly sophisticated.”

“I don’t know about my agents’ level of sophistication,” Aziraphale chuckled. “But they do prefer staying in their own exclusive circle.”

“Maybe even better, a wider net then,” Crowley said and Aziraphale agreed.

Aziraphale had never been to Crowley’s flat. On the rare occasions that he had picked Crowley up instead of the other way around, Crowley had come sauntering out the main door the moment Aziraphale had arrived in front of the building.

The entrance area was huge and had it been a bit more white than black and grey, it could have reminded Aziraphale of Heaven. But not in a good way. Just like Heaven there was a lot of space, but nobody used it to place nice things in it. Crowley did of course have some pieces of furniture but Aziraphale would not call them “nice”. They were pompous and overly displaying wealth and were arranged in no way that would help make the place cozier.

The sound of Crowley clearing his throat caught Aziraphale’s attention and with a blush he became aware that he had been standing awkwardly near the door, looking around in what must have been a scrutinizing manner.

“Not your style, huh?” Crowley grinned, his dark glasses dangling between his fingers as his golden eyes winked at Aziraphale.

“Not exactly,” Aziraphale said with a light smile. “But it’s not my flat. As long as it makes you happy, it serves its purpose.”

And he meant that. Aziraphale held the firm believe that a home besides being shelter and storage had the function of making its inhabitants happy, make them feel safe, comfortable, cozy and content. But apparently Aziraphale was judging Crowley by his own standards in error since Crowley’s face fell and turned first into a scowl then into a mocking expression.

“Yeah, right,” he said sarcastically, putting his glasses away. “Come on, maybe you like the study better.”

Crowley led him through the flat and Aziraphale was rather surprised at the amount of beautiful plants decorating one of the hallways – and rather shocked at the amount of fear emanating from them. On the way to the study two statues caught Aziraphale’s eye. One because it looked strangely familiar, one because it captured a questionable scene between two winged creatures.

“The guy who sold it to me swears they’re fighting,” Crowley said with a leering grin as he noticed Aziraphale coming to a halt to stare at the debatable piece of art.

“Does he now?” Aziraphale asked, tilting his head.

To his surprise Crowley circled his arms around him from behind and put his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“As much as I’d love to… discuss that statue with you,” Crowley chuckled. “We don’t have time for this now.”

“Ah, of course.”

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and led him to his study. Later Aziraphale would be unable to tell what surprised him more. The astonishingly real looking Mona-Lisa sketch at the wall, the throne that stood behind the desk at a normal chair’s stead or the sleeping black cat curled up on it. When the two man-shaped beings entered the room, the feline opened one yellow eye to peer at them and closed it again when it deemed them harmless yet uninteresting.

“Told him not to get on the throne,” Crowley grumbled but passed by the cat without making a move to chase him away.

“I didn’t know you like cats, dear,” Aziraphale smiled.

“That’s cause I don’t,” Crowley said while fumbling with a curtain at the other side of the room. “I hate them.”

“Ehm…” With a raised brow and a teasing smile on his lips Aziraphale pointed at the cat occupying the throne like it was his.

“They tricked me, okay?” Crowley exclaimed, turning his face to Aziraphale. “Had one here for an experiment in the 60s and she refused to leave afterward and…”

“Refused?” Aziraphale repeated amused.

“…and when she passed away, I had gotten used to having a cat around.” Crowley ignored the teasing interruption. “That’s why Merlin and Fay are allowed here, if they don’t push their luck.”

He spoke the last words with a threatening glare at the cat on the throne who had the courtesy to open both eyes this time for a second.

“You have two?”

“Yeah, you’re not supposed to keep them alone,” Crowley explained. “Especially when you’re out often.”

Aziraphale smiled. He was surprised that Crowley was a pet owner. What did not in the least surprise him, was that Crowley informed himself how to keep the chosen animal properly. Of course Aziraphale knew that Crowley did not want to hear how sweet that all was, even though a tiny part of Aziraphale thought about mentioning it anyway. Because that tiny part would love having Crowley prove how dangerous he was again.

“Ah, here we go,” the demon in question announced and pulled the curtain cord he had been disentangling.

The curtain moved and revealed a weapon rack holding three swords. On the left Aziraphale saw a short sword, both handle and blade dark black and pulsating veins of fiery red streaking through the latter. The weapon to the right was a familiar looking claymore with a golden handle and a blade that seemed to be made of silver, but Aziraphale knew that this was a special kind of steel only made in Heaven. Sparks danced around the edge, waiting to become flames if a worthy opponent approached.

And the sword in the middle? Though it was a simple long blade at first sight, Aziraphale would recognize it among thousands. Though without doubt the work of a master, it looked humble compared to the two swords next to it. A well-crafted yet common steel blade emerging from a barely ornate handle. But the angel felt its power, felt its unbreakable will and the strong magic weaved in it.

“You stole Excalibur?” he asked incredulous.

“Erm, well, possibly,” Crowley shrugged, his hands in his pockets. “Then again, is it stealing when the owner’s dead and his last will is to throw it into a lake?”

“I am not familiar with Arthurian Laws of proprietary right, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “But you know full well that in that case possible legal problems are not the point!”

“Come on, angel.” Crowley smiled one of his charming smiles. “It’s not that they still need it to determine who their king is.”

“That was the Sword in the Stone, dear,” Aziraphale lectured. “But that is not the point either. This weapon is not for you. The Claymore shouldn’t be here either. Why do you…?”

He stopped himself midsentence. Letting his eyes wander over the collection of powerful swords, he remembered the transcript Crowley had given him many centuries ago. Suddenly everything clicked into place.

“Three magic items of the same kind but of different sorts from the three places you travelled,” he whispered.

“Heh,” Crowley said scratching his head. “Took me a few decades to figure it out. Knew I should have asked for your help.”

“Help with what?” Aziraphale asked, but then he understood. “The damned soul you want to free… is yours?”

“Of course!” Crowley spat. “Whose soul else would I want to free?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said quietly. “A human in Hell you’re fond of?”

“What?”

“I’m not an idiot, Crowley.” Aziraphale turned his head and stared at the Mona Lisa without really seeing it. “I know that I haven’t been your only… partner during your time on Earth.”

Biting his lip he kept staring at the sketch, feeling Crowley’s gaze on him. He hoped he did not sound too hurt or needy. Asking too much commitment of Crowley might push him away. And if they were doomed, Aziraphale wanted to be near Crowley as much as possible in the days before the end.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t really care about them,” Crowley said after a while. “And if I wanted to free one of them, I could anyway. A small circle of witches developed a ritual to free someone from Hell’s claim.”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, mixed feelings in his chest. On the one hand it was nice to know that there was a way to save those who had been tricked into selling their souls, on the other hand, he did not like the thought of a truly evil person to be granted an afterlife in Heaven.

“It only erases Hell’s claim, angel,” Crowley said, guessing his thoughts correctly. “Doesn’t mean, the soul gets into Heaven. Worst case they’re trapped between life and death forever.”

“Stingy Jack,” Aziraphale breathed out.

“I warned him,” Crowley said defensively. “Anyway, I thought the prophecy you translated would help me alter the magic so I could use it on me to free myself, but…

“You cannot free yourself, Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupted.

“Yeah, thanks, Aziraphale,” Crowley snapped. “After trying for centuries I know. But I’m not sorry for trying.”

“No, sorry,” Aziraphale stuttered. “I mean, you can’t free yourself because you’re not bound.”

“Are you kidding me?” Crowley gave back. “I’m a fucking demon. If I’m not bound to Hell, then who is?”

“Your bond with Heaven was broken when you Fell, dear,” Aziraphale explained, painfully reminded of the Fall and the grief that followed. “A new bond was never formed. That… was part of the punishment, don’t you remember?”

He spoke softly and carefully put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder when the demon suddenly seemed to be far away and lost in thought. His handsome features scrunched and his eyes – though looking at Aziraphale – gazed at a place long lost to him.

*

_Gabriel was strong and his claymore came crushing towards the starmaker’s short blades with huge heavy swings. He had to give more and more ground and soon there would be nowhere to run anymore from the furious Archangel._

_“How could you?” Gabriel yelled. “Lucifer, yes, I’m not surprised. But you?”_

_“I didn’t do anything, Gabriel!” the starmaker answered, half a plea, half a cry of rage. “I only asked questions!”_

_With a strength only an Archangel could muster, Gabriel let his claymore drive down towards his opponent’s blades. The starmaker tried pushing against the force, but even though he was strong, Gabriel was stronger. His weapons fell. In another display of his corporation’s physical superiority the Archangel took his Claymore in one hand to grab the starmaker’s robe with the other. He pulled him close, his face mere inches from the opponent’s, the weapon threateningly above his head._

_“You sided with him!” Gabriel snarled._

_“I…”_

_Before the starmaker could answer, time seemed to slow. God was about to intervene, they both felt it. They looked around. There was fighting everywhere, but slowly loyalists and rebels seemed to tire – of fighting, of screaming, of hurting their brethren. All but the pair of Archangels in the middle. Michael swung her blade effortlessly, her flaming red hair flying in wild curls in the heat of battle, her blue eyes shining while she fought the black haired traitor. Lucifer’s ruby eyes were no less burning as he met her attacks with the same level of skill and determination. They were beautiful and terrifying in their rage._

_Suddenly a strong wave of power, anger and sadness rushed through the whole of Heaven. It ran over angels of both factions alike but Michael was the most affected. An invisible force hit her. She screamed, her back arched and she scrunched her eyes shut in pain. Lucifer stumbled back and stared at her. When she re-opened her eyes, golden light streamed from them and divine power emanated from her body. With ease she disarmed the Morning Star and grabbed him. Like a child’s toy he was lifted up and she spoke._

_The starmaker listened and so did Gabriel. Both shuddered at the coldness of her voice. When she pushed Lucifer out of Heaven, all his followers were pulled after him. The starmaker tried to hold on to Gabriel. And maybe, just maybe Gabriel tried the same. _

_Something inside the starmaker shattered and he was alone. Pain engulfed him. He wanted to scream but even that was denied to him. For a while there was nothing but darkness and silence._

_When the starmaker came to, he was in a strange and dark place. It was cold and he was scared. But as he looked around, he saw his brethren that had Fallen with him. His own relief was reflected in their expressions as they rushed towards each other. They gathered in pairs to connect again. The starmaker found Lucifer and smiled. Lucifer smiled back and took his hand. They focused on each other’s souls, trying to weave together, but… Nothing. Their essence, their powers, everything was there, but they could not find each other on the metaphysical plane. The others fared no better. Frantically pairs dissolved and new pairs formed, but to no avail. _

_They were together in this. But they were alone._

*

Crowley blinked. He found himself sat on the cold floor of his flat, a guilty looking angel kneeling beside him.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I’m so sorry. I should not have spoken of that day.”

Crowley did not like this. Feeling so vulnerable and useless. In front of Aziraphale to make things worse. It was supposed to be the other way around. Crowley protected Aziraphale.

Without further ado Crowley jumped to his feet.

“It’s fine angel,” he said quickly. “Not a nice memory is all.”

“But…”

“As I said, I had given up on the stupid spell anyway,” Crowley went on. “Should have talked to you sooner, huh? Idiot that I am I wasted centuries when I had the smartest little angel at hand.”

He tipped Aziraphale’s nose with his index finger.

“If you want to talk…”

“I said it’s fine!” Crowley snapped again.

Turning to the weapon rack again to avoid seeing Aziraphale flinching away from him, Crowley cleared his throat.

“Well, anyway. The weird vision apparently was not for me then, unless an old Egyptian spirit wanted to play a prank on me,” Crowley said after a few calming breaths. “I wanted to show you the swords because I think they might help fighting the Antichrist.”

“Well, it _is_ a powerful collection you have there, dear,” Aziraphale admitted.

“Right?” Crowley grinned proudly. “But obviously he won’t be vulnerable to a Hellish weapon and I’m not sure he would be to a Heavenly weapon and Excalibur…”

“Is not for you,” Aziraphale repeated.

“Yes, I know, I’m not exactly pure of heart…”

“Neither was Arthur, dear,” Aziraphale said. “He could not be because he was human. This is a weapon for humans. Whatever the legends say, the magic in the sword is nothing but pure human magic, weaved in by a good witch to help protect the innocent.”

“Witches aren’t too fond of demons,” Crowley sighed.

“Or of angels,” Aziraphale smiled sadly. “They believe in the freedom of will, they don’t like the Forces that Be intervening with human destinys.”

“I don’t understand.” Crowley frowned. “I have used items of Witchcraft.”

“Maybe, but this is Excalibur, one of the most powerful weapons ever made, it has a very strong will.”

“Great, I got two useless swords and one that is too stubborn to help,” Crowley grumbled.

“You could put it like that,” Aziraphale nodded. “But now that I know what you have at your disposal here, I can do some research on how to use it properly.”

“That’s a good idea,” Crowley said.

A heavy silence grew between the two of them. Almost simultaneously they decided to break it.

“Are you sure, you’re alright, dear?”

“Let me get you home, angel.”

Crowley sighed.

“I’m okay,” he assured, softer this time. “We have bigger – and more pressing – problems than my age old trauma.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale said subdued and let Crowley take him home.

It was not okay. Aziraphale barely said a word on the way to the bookshop. When he got out of the car, he found a book on the backseat and - being the bibliophile that he was - took it immediately.

“Must be the witch’s,” Crowley grunted.

Aziraphale just stared at the cover and Crowley sighed.

“Listen, we give it back to her when we solved that ‘impending end of time’ problem, yes?” Crowley promised. “If we can’t stop it, she won’t need her book anymore.”

“What?” Aziraphale’s head snapped up. “Yes! Quite right! Good night, dear!”

Crowley did not like seeing Aziraphale go, especially since Aziraphale did not look as wistfully as usual when they parted.

“So, we both contact our human allies?” he stalled to get Aziraphale to look at him once more.

“Yes, yes,” Aziraphale nodded absentmindedly and started walking. “We should do that. I’ll call you if they find something.”

“You alright?” Crowley called after him when Aziraphale opened the bookshop’s door.

“Tickety-boo, dear!”

“Tickety-boo?”

“Mind how you go!”

The door closed, leaving Crowley feeling pretty alone.

Driving home, he thought about Aziraphale’s words and his Fall. Of _that day_. Some of it was burnt into his memories, some of it was foggy, some of it gone. This was however not the first time _that day_ had come to his mind. But it was the first time he had held onto to it, had tried to grab the memory and relive it. Aziraphale was right. He was not bound to Hell, Hell could not bind, a bond, even if forced, would render the punishment of loneliness useless.

The Fall had broken the rebel’s connection to God and to the Heavenly Host. They had tried to establish a similar connection with each other and failed. It was the loss that had turned the Fallen Angels into Demons. Some had gone mad, barely more than wild animals, controlled by the more powerful members of Hell to be let lose when needed. Others had become bitter, like Hastur und Ligur, in control but willing to force the pain they felt on other creatures – preferably humans. Then some had become cold and calculated like Dagon or Beelzebub. Then again, Dagon was not that cold, was she?

Crowley sighed. So he was not bound to Hell. That did not mean that he was free. He was as free from Hell as a little gangster from the mob he owed money to. If he ran, they could and would find him. But at least it would not rip his essence apart if he ran.

Not that running was an option anyway. As long as there was a chance, he wanted to save this rock. And no matter what happened, he wanted to save the angel, that exasperating, annoying, kind, smart, funny, bratty, sassy and beautiful angel.

There had to be something wrong with him. Why was he so obsessed with Earth and Aziraphale? It was like he… Crowley’s eyes grew wide.

“Shit,” he whispered.

Somewhere on St. George Street, not far from Sotheby’s, a traffic light turned green, but the black Bentley first in line did not move. At first only a few car horns sounded, then some more and soon it seemed a competition broke out who could hit their horn faster and firmer.

But the redhaired driver of the Bentley in question did not hear them. He had his forehead leaning against his steering wheel and kept repeating: “Shit, shit, shit, shit…”

[17] Hell, of course, was already.


	12. Timing

Aziraphale did not like leaving Crowley now. Even though the demon tried to act unfazed, Aziraphale saw how the memory of the Fall had shaken him. But after all this time Aziraphale knew that maintaining his air of invincibility was important to Crowley. So even if it hurt to be pushed aside, he took a few steps back and let Crowley rebuilt his façade and they talked about the weapons and how to use them against the Antichrist.

Maybe Aziraphale as the last remaining Knight of the Table Round should have felt a bit more indignation at the theft of Excalibur. Then again, he could not blame Crowley for the wish to escape Hell and he hated to be the one to break to him that all his research and work had been in vain.

In hopes to ease some of the tension in the air, Aziraphale offered to do some research and despite wanting to stay with Crowley, let the demon take him home. It was a mere coincidence that his gaze fell in the back of the car when he got out in front of his shop.

“Oh, there is book in front of the backseat,” he told Crowley.

“Must be the witch’s,” he heard Crowley say.

After that he barely followed Crowley’s words. He processed enough to give superficial answers when Crowley spoke, but his attention was on the book alone.

One part of him could not believe that he actually held “The nice and accurate prophecies of Agnes Nutter, witch” in his hands, another part screamed at him to get the book inside to keep it away from any harm the exterior weather conditions could bring upon it and a third part demanded to read it. Those parts were not really at odds with each other and agreed that they needed to get rid of Crowley first.

So he brought his conversation with Crowley to a quick end, not too masterfully as it seemed because Crowley asked: “You alright?” when Aziraphale rushed to his shop’s entrance.

“Tickety-boo, dear!” Aziraphal assured, unlocking his door.

“Tickety-boo?”

“Mind how you go!”

He closed his shop and prepared himself to read the most valuable and rarest book he had ever read. Carefully with gloved hands he opened it and his eyes immediately fell on a child’s painting at the front page. He should feel appalled by that treatment of this treasure, but he could not help be endeared by the colorful picture and the innocent mind that had thought it up. Briefly he wondered if it was made by the young lady they had met in the wood.

“Anathema Device…” he murmured.

He knew that Agnes Nutter had not died childless. If she had been the mother of a daughter – as witches often were – said daughter would have changed her last name with marriage. So it was possible the witch in Tadfield was a descendant and owned the one copy of the book that had stayed in the family. Her accent was American which did not speak against the theory, but it raised the question why she was here. And since she apparently had access to the world’s only infallible book of prophecy, she probably knew something Aziraphale did not know. A circumstance he was determined to change.

*

Hours passed without Aziraphale looking up from the book. When he finally did, he felt like Agnes Nutter had personally told him what to do (and not in the friendliest manner). So he took his phone and dialed the code of Tadfield followed by 666.

After the call he stared at his phone for a second. He had the Antichrist’s name and address! He needed to call Crowley!

He grabbed the receiver… and halted. What would happen if he told Crowley? Crowley would take his collection of weapons to fight the Antichrist and the Hellhound. Of course Aziraphale would follow him into that fight but even with their combined power, there was no guarantee that Crowley would survive it. Even if they did win and came out alive, what would Hell do to Crowley then?

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Aziraphale stared into the distance, thinking. He could not risk losing Crowley. While Crowley did not feel the same for Aziraphale as Aziraphale for Crowley, Crowley cared for Aziraphale. He had always helped him, kept him safe and sane.

And beside: Even if Crowley did not love him, Aziraphale loved Crowley. So this time he would keep Crowley safe.

*

“Okay,” Crowley said, pacing his flat. “One step after the other. Find the Antichrist, save the world, kill whoever needs to be killed so that Hell will leave me alone and tell Aziraphale the truth. Yes, great.”

He fed the cats and watered the plants before getting a bag of linen to put the swords in. He had the feeling they did not like being transported that way, but it was the safest he could think of. After speaking to Shadwell an hour ago, he wanted to be prepared in case the Witchfinder’s men had found any trace of the boy.

Sighing Crowley grabbed his phone and carried the weapons to his Bentley. He was going to sit there and wait. Patiently.

After fifteen minutes he got himself a coffee, after thirty minutes he got himself an Irish coffee, after forty-five minutes he got himself a bottle of whisky. After an hour he sobered up and decided to call Aziraphale. Maybe Aziraphale’s agents were faster.

*

Heaven was wide. As always. Depressingly so. But Aziraphale had business to do. Gabriel was already waiting, his usual broad smile on the handsome face.

“Aziraphale!” he greeted enthusiastically. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Ah yes, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said, trying to hide his uneasiness. “It’s about the Antichrist.”

“Oh, do you want me to get the others?”

“No, I’d like to speak with you first.”

“Of course, what is it?” Gabriel smiled what he probably thought was an encouraging smile but only made Aziraphale more nervous.

“Alright, I’ll just say it: There was an unfortunate mix-up in the hospital in which the Antichrist was born,” Aziraphale confessed.

“And?” Gabriel asked. “That means?”

Aziraphale fought the urge to roll his eyes. Surely the third highest ranking being in Heaven could not be that dense?

“Well, it means that I have been monitoring the wrong boy for 11 years,” he explained with strained patience. “Warlock Dowling is not the Antichrist.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said. Nothing more.

“Look, Gabriel,” Aziraphale hurried to say. “I will accept whatever punishment you see fit. But now we have to take care of that boy. We are running out of time!”

Gabriel laughed.

“Punishment?” he repeated incredulous. “What for? A mix-up in a hospital is hardly your fault! Humans! Leave it to them to mess things up, huh? You couldn’t have known.”

“Oh. Well, thank… thank you for being so understanding,” Aziraphale smiled uncertain. “Anyway, the real Antichrist…”

“Is Hell’s problem,” Gabriel finished. “As far as I hear all this Megiddo foofaraw is just for show. The child will come to his power and call for the Horsemen and…”

“Yes, so we have to eliminate him before he does that.”

“What?” Gabriel asked confused. “He has to do that. Else the War won’t start.”

“But there has to be something we can do. There doesn’t have to be another War.”

“Of course, how else would we win it?” Gabriel scratched his head for long seconds and stared at the white ceiling. Finally understanding formed on his face and he sighed: “Oh, I see. Yes, you wanted to… Right. Listen, Aziraphale, I respect what you did on Earth, I admire how you powered through your time between those humans and how you were willing to even take on the Antichrist himself was just… wow, but…”

“You never thought I could do it, did you?” Aziraphale asked coldly.

“No,” Gabriel said but was quick to add: “But not because of you! You did great, that was a clever plan, but it was just doomed to fail because… well, it’s the Great Plan, right? Enthusiasm and cleverness won’t stop it.”

The Archangel put a comforting hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Look, don’t take it too hard,” he said. “I told you not to get your hopes up, right?”

“You did, yes,” Aziraphale nodded.

Gabriel cast him a sympathetic look.

“But you did anyway, hm?” he asked before sighing: “This is my fault, I should have recalled you from the Dowling residence. But you were so motivated, so enthusiastic. I’m sorry!”

On the one hand Aziraphale wanted to punch Gabriel. On the other hand Gabriel was stronger than him. And on a third hand[18] he did not have time for this. He needed to return to Earth as soon as possible.

“Oh no, please, Gabriel,” he said sweetly. “You just did what a good superior would do. It was me who got carried away. Anyway, I should go back and look after the Antichrist.”

“As I said, anything will work out without…” Gabriel started but then halted and furrowed his brows.

“Thinking about it, it may give us an advantage,” he said after a moment. “Hell doesn’t know they have the wrong boy, do they? If we know where it starts beforehand and Hell doesn’t… Where is that boy?”

Aziraphale swallowed. He did not want Heaven to have an advantage in the War, he did not want a War at all. Lying was not something he did often. He preferred bending the truth or hiding parts of it. But there was no time for clever word play now.

“Oh, I’m not quite sure where he is yet,” Aziraphale said firmly. “I was about to send my agents. I just wanted to talk to you first. Because you always are so level-headed and in control. You’d know what to do.”

Again a broad smile appeared on Gabriel’s face.

“Anytime,” he said. “Okay, you see that you can find the boy before Hell does and let me know, right?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale smiled.

They bid their farewells and Aziraphale rushed back to Earth. Immediately he grabbed his phone’s receiver and called Sergeant Shadwell from the Witchfinder’s army. He gave the man the Antichrist’s name and address in Tadfield and asked him to keep the boy under surveillance.

“Do not engage,” he warned Shadwell before saying goodbye. He really did not want the Sergeant to lose any more men. The demise of Witchfinder Milk had shaken the poor man enough.

Aziraphale allowed himself a moment to take a deep breath. It was disappointing, but at least he knew now that Gabriel would not help him. So he needed to take the problem to a higher authority. That did not leave many options. He would need some things for this – and maybe some Sushi to calm his nerves…

The phone overthrew his plans. Sighing he grabbed the receiver.

“I apologize, but we are closed due to…”

“Impending doom?” Crowley’s voice sounded.

“Oh,… hello,” Aziraphale said nervously. “What…”

“Meet me at the bandstand. Now!” Crowley ordered and hung up.

Aziraphale had no time to be amazed at how after all these years his body and mind still reacted to Crowley’s commanding voice because he was busy grabbing his coat, locking the shop and rushing to the bandstand.

When he arrived, Crowley was already there, walking impatiently around in small circles. Aziraphale calmed himself. He could not give away that he knew where the boy was. Too great was the risk for Crowley to rush into a fight and get himself killed. Or survive the fight and get killed by Hell later. This was not going to be easy. Aziraphale was a better liar than an angel should be, but lying while facing Crowley was a different thing.

“So. Do you have the Antichrist’s name, address and shoe size yet?” Crowley asked.

“His shoe size? Why would I have his shoe size?” Aziraphale stalled.

“It’s a joke,” Crowley said impatiently. “I have nothing yet either.”

That was good. Aziraphale had not lied. Crowley had just assumed that he knew nothing.

“Well, it’s the Great Plan, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. If Crowley was willing to lay low for a while, Aziraphale could solve the problem and everything would be back to normal.

“Ah, yes, the Great Plan,” Crowley spoke sarcastically and raised his middle fingers heavenwards. “For the record: Fuck the Great Plan!”

“May you be forgiven,” Aziraphale smiled nervously.

“Yeah, like that’s gonna happen,” Crowley gave back. “Non-negotiable part of a demon’s job description: unforgivable.”

“Oh, Crowley, we both know you’re not like the other demons,” Aziraphale said. “You’re…”

“Don’t say it,” Crowley pressed out between gritted teeth. “Just don’t.”

Aziraphale closed his mouth and nodded.

“Okay.” Crowley let his hand run over his face before giving an exasperated sigh. “Sorry, just a bit tense.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Aziraphale said lightly despite the situation. “I know I am.”

Crowley gave him a soft smile, making Aziraphale’s heart skip a beat.

“Right,” Crowley agreed. “Look, we find the boy, my agents can do that. And then we get rid of him.”

Pretending to consider Crowley’s words, Aziraphale tried to come up with a way to keep Crowley as far from the Antichrist as possible. He needed to talk to God. She would sort things out and Crowley would not have to fight this dangerous fight.

“Oh,” he said. “He’s going to be hard to find. The world is big. Tadfield Manor was a nun’s hospital. If they mixed up the children, he could have been adopted. He could be anywhere. How about my agents search England and your’s…”

“No!” Crowley suddenly said. “You’re right. He could be anywhere and we’re running out of time.”

“What do you…?”

“We’re leaving, come on.” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s arm and started dragging him along.

“Leaving?” Aziraphale repeated.

“Yes,” Crowley answered. “We tried. Kudos to us. Didn’t work. We go.”

“There isn’t anywhere to go!” Aziraphale now fought back in earnest, slowing Crowley down.

“It’s a big universe, angel.” Crowley stated. “Let them have Earth as their War ground. We go off together.”

“What? No!”

*

Crowley growled. While he had to admit that he found Aziraphale’s feisty and bratty side endearing and arousing more often than not, now was no time for that. He had to get them both to safety.

“Stop being difficult, Aziraphale,” he demanded and pulled firmer. “Let’s go!”

“No!” Aziraphale said again. “You wanted to save the world.”

“Yeah and it didn’t work.”

“There is time.”

“Not enough!”

“You can’t know that!”

“I won’t risk it!” Crowley all but yelled. “I can’t!”

“Why?”

“Because I love you!” Crowley blurted out before he knew it.

Crowley was still busy processing what he had said when he felt Aziraphale’s body tense even more while Aziraphale’s face froze. He ripped his arm from Crowley’s grip.

“That is low,” he said coldly. “Even for you.”

“What? Aziraphale,…” Crowley tried to address him.

“You know exactly how I feel about you,” Aziraphale spoke, calm but his bottom lip trembling. “I have accepted that you don’t feel the same. Until now, however, I thought you at least have some respect for me. But to use my feelings for you against me, to tell me what I want to hear to manipulate me and get me to do what you want, that’s just…”

“Angel,…”

“Don’t ‘angel’ me, Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped. “It’s over. Find someone else to toy with.”

As he saw Aziraphale turn around and leave, Crowley saw red. How dare this little angel deny him and talk to him like that.

“Okay then, I will!” he called after Aziraphale before he could stop himself. “Won’t be that hard! Have a nice doomsday!”

Then he turned around and walked back to his car. After letting himself fall into the driver’s seat, he let out a long string of curses before letting his head fall against the wheel.

“Now, that went well,” he groaned.

*

Frantically Crowley researched places in the universe he and Aziraphale could hide at. Time was a luxury he did not really have, but he needed to give Aziraphale at least a few hours to calm down anyway (and himself, too, if he was being honest). So finding a little spot for them meanwhile seemed reasonable.

Looking at all the beautiful creations he had helped build drowned him in bittersweet memories of Heaven and God. He could not help it - he addressed Her. Not for the first time since his Fall, but for the first time without any sarcasm or mockery. Bitterness, however, swung in his every word.

“Is it still just a test?” he asked. “You said you’d be testing them. But there are so many of them. How are you testing them all? And isn’t it stupid to test them to destruction? What is there to gain?”

“God? You listening?” he called out and then added quietly: “I always wondered if you can’t hear me anymore or if you just don’t care.”

“Oh, wait, let me guess,” he laughed bitterly. “Too many questions?”

“Seriously, _Mother_, is this really the Great Plan? Because if you ask me, there’s nothing great about it.”

“Please,” he begged in a whisper. “He loves this place so much…”

Crowley stared upwards, but there was nothing but his apartment’s ceiling. Crowley listened, but there was nothing but silence.

“No answer, huh?” he grunted. “Who would have thought?”

Sighing he tucked a bookmark in his astronomy tome at the entry for Alpha Centauri and decided to pass some time at the cinema with popcorn and a funny movie.

But the popcorn tasted bland and the movie was not very funny today. Aziraphale would probably have argued that the movie never was funny, but Crowley usually liked it. Beside him only one man was sitting in the theatre. He did not seem to enjoy himself too much either and for a moment Crowley wondered what his story was. Then he scolded himself for that. Who cared? The world was ending soon and he had to get Aziraphale back on track which would not be easy after the poorly timed love confession and of course the mean comment born of hurt demonic pride.

But his defiant angel dropped to rank two of Crowley’s most pressing problems when one of the not-so-funny rabbits on screen removed their head to reveal Hastur’s ugly face beneath it.

“Crowley!” he snarled.

“What’s the problem, Lord Hastur?” he asked, knowing deep down it would not help.

“The boy, Warlock, knows nothing about the War and the Horsemen!” Hastur yelled. “He is not our Master’s son!...” The duke fell silent for a moment and then added with a frown: “And he said I smelled of poo!”

“What does he know?” Crowley waved dismissively. “Everybody knows you smell of decay!”

“You’re done for, Crowley!” Hastur roared while starting to take his on-screen comrades apart. “I will rip your heart out, I will peel the skin from your flesh, I will…”

Crowley did not linger to listen to Hastur’s colorful ideas. Time was up. Aziraphale better was ready to talk now.

[18] Which technically as a supernatural being he could form if he wanted.


	13. Incidents and Accidents

Crowley ran out of the theatre. It was getting late and no passerby was in sight. Still he had the eerie feeling of being watched. He rushed to his car and opened the driver’s door.

“Someone’s in a hurry,” a familiar voice spoke behind him.

Before turning around, Crowley quickly pulled his phone out and hid it behind his back when he finally faced the handsome demon with the dark trenchcoat. Ligur pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning against and slowly approached Crowley.

“Ligur!” Crowley greeted with a wide smile. “Listen, mate…,”

“Just don’t, Crowley,” Ligur said, his orange eyes shining with malice. “We know what you did. We don’t know why, but we’ll get that out of you. Tsk, working with an angel! Didn’t think Hastur’d give you a head start, did you?”

“Listen, this is all just a misunderstanding,” Crowley said, typing blindly behind his back, hoping he’d get the right number in.

“Oh? Is that so?” Ligur mocked. “Then I’m sure we can clear everything up if you just come with me now.”

“Sure, lemme just…,” Crowley wanted to press the dial button as Ligur grabbed his arm violently. With a painful pull he revealed the phone in Crowley’s hand and smacked it out of Crowley’s reach.

“You’re coming with me!” Ligur said and Crowley already felt the magic that would transport the two of them back to Hell.

Desperately Crowley lifted his knee and kicked Ligur’s stomach, making him stumble back with a load groan of pain that soon turned into a cry of rage. Ligur rushed towards Crowley but the redhead was too quick. He let himself fall back into the driver’s seat of the Bentley and grabbed the bag in the foot well of the passenger’s seat. Groaning from the weapons weight, he pulled out the Claymore he had stolen from Sandalphon many years ago.

Ligur, unaware of the situation, grabbed Crowley’s lower leg to pull him out of the car again. Using the impetus of the movement, Crowley just held the weapon in front of his body driving the blade right through Ligur’s upper body.

Ligur’s first reaction was a scoff as he grabbed the weapons handle to pull it out. But soon his eyes widened in shock. The divinity of the blade inside his body spread, slowly burning him. A scream echoed through the miraculously empty street as Ligur dropped to his knees before falling to ashes.

Coughing Crowley waited for the fog to dissipate before bending down to retrieve his weapon and phone. When he got back up, another dark figure stood nearby. Hastur, Duke of Hell, approached carefully and slowly, staring at the ashes on the ground.

“What… have you done?” he asked shocked. “Where did you get that weapon?”

“Stay where you are!” Crowley told him. “I just wanna leave, but I don’t mind using this on you.”

Hastur barked a laugh. Then a huge sword of dark metal surrounded by black fog materialized in his hand.

“Not exactly your kind of weapon, is it, Crowley?” Hastur asked threateningly. “Usually saw you with a short blade in your right and an even shorter one hidden in your left.”

Trying to buy some time, Crowley put on an arrogant expression.

“Was enough for Ligur here, wasn’t it?”

“He did not see it coming!” Hastur roared. “You coward stabbed him when he did not have a chance! I see your weapon and I have my own.”

Crowley swallowed. With their current choice of weapon Hastur would probably beat him. On the one hand the risk for him was lower. He would lose his body when Hastur killed him with his Hellish Sword, Hastur would be destroyed when stabbed by the Celestial Claymore. But something in Hastur’s eyes gave Crowley the feeling that the Duke did not really care about the unfavorable odds.

Lightning fast Crowley swung the weapon without further warning. It had Hastur take a step back and position himself more defensively. But Crowley did not attack further. He dropped the weapon and grabbed his phone. Properly seeing the display this time made it a lot easier to dial his own number and disappear into the telephone system. Chances were that Hastur would steal the Claymore and return to Hell with the news. But just like Crowley had hoped, Hastur followed him.

The Duke’s threats echoed through the line.

“Wherever you come out, I come out, too, Crowley!” he yelled.

“Not exactly,” Crowley murmured.

Crowley left the strange void and tumbled out of the receiver of the phone in his flat. Quickly he grabbed said receiver and removed it from the handset, making sure the answering maching would take the next call - or in that case the next demon. After waiting a few seconds, Crowley still heard nothing. So he could not really know if it had worked, but since Hastur did not appear to rip him apart, he was fairly certain for the moment.

“Just one way to be sure,” he said.

After jogging over to the Mona-Lisa sketch, he opened the safe hidden behind it and got out the tartan thermos with the Holy Water. With a snap of his fingers his hands were protected by thick gloves and he unscrewed the cap. Slowly he poured the Holy Water over his answering machine. The sizzling sound and sparks of electricity were accompanied by an unearthly scream as slowly the device began to melt and Hellish residue started leaking through the remains of the machine.

“Good bye, Hastur,” Crowley grinned. “I’d say nice knowing you, but we’d both know it’s a lie.”

Crowley was running out of time so he accepted the risk of being detected faster and miracled himself a brandnew phone and traveled back to the one he had left on the pavement in front of the movie theatre to collect his weapons and his car.

*

The words Crowley called after him at the bandstand stung. Even though Aziraphale tried to convince himself that Crowley did not really mean them, the images of Crowley escaping Armageddon to the stars with a random human in his arms pushed into Aziraphale’s mind. He shook them off and went back to Soho. He should hurry, but after his fight with Crowley and with a conversation with no other than God Herself ahead, he really needed an hour or two to calm his nerves first. After a visit at his favorite Sushi restaurant, he wandered the streets of Soho like a sleepwalker on his way home. Deep in thought, he stared straight ahead, watching only his own feet and the ground.

That was why he did not notice the three figures approaching him until they were right in front of him. Nobody noticed when Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon ushered him into a narrow and dark side alley.

“You came to talk to Gabriel today, Aziraphale?” Michael asked. “Four eyes only?”

“Y…y…yes?” Aziraphale said. “I don’t see why that would be a problem.”

“I was just wondering if you wanted to come clean about your… connection to the demon Crowley,” Michael told him.

“I really don’t know…”

“No reason to lie,” Uriel interrupted him. “We saw pictures of you two.”

Aziraphale’s stomach dropped at that.

“Meetings in the park, the theatre, in bars,” Uriel listed. “What were you up to?”

Aziraphale could not help feeling relieved. Of course it was anything but good that the Archangels knew about his friendship with Crowley, but at least they did not seem to know about their more intimate encounters. If they did, they would have brought that up first.

“There is a simple explanation,” he started.

“And we don’t want to hear it,” Michael interrupted calmly. “We just need you to choose sides now.”

“Oh, well, I have being thinking about choosing…”

“Make a choice!” Uriel demands.

“Oh, actually I have been thinking about _their_ choices,” Aziraphale spoke, pointing at the humans hurrying past them. “I think it’s wrong to take that away from them for a needless War. Their choices, their chances, their lives. As angels I think we should work on keeping everything running so that they can keep making choices.”

“You think too much,” Uriel stated.

At the same moment Sandalphon stepped forward and punched Aziraphale in the stomach. Gasping in pain and shock Aziraphale fell forward only to be grabbed by the sleeve by Uriel who drew him up again. She was about to push him against the wall when time suddenly seemed to slow. The shadows in the alley came to life and tangled around the Archangel’s corporations, pulling them away from Aziraphale and smashing them into the wall behind them.

They recovered fast, their divine power breaking the demonic spell within a moment. But they were nonetheless surprised and angry about the attack and about the seething demon that now stood between them and Aziraphale.

“You will never touch him again,” Crowley said in a calm dark tone. “Never. Again.”

Sandalphon and Uriel hesitated. Maybe it was the confidence Crowley spoke with, maybe it was the fact that they had not been confronted with a demon for centuries. At least not with one that was furious, ready to fight and apparently powerful.

Michael however recovered fast and raised a brow.

“Else what, demon?” she asked. “Don’t trust your comrades will come to save you and your pet. Your days as Satan’s favorite might be coming to an end.”

“As all days are soon,” Uriel said.

The Archangels regained their confidence and simultaneously took a step forward. But their faces fell when in Crowley’s hand a dark weapon appeared. With a brow raised in mockery Crowley moved it in a half circle, the tip wandering between the three Archangels, the red veins running through the black blade pulsating with every move.

“You like it?” Crowley asked low voiced. “A gift from Satan. Not everyone gets something like this, you know. Not that I want to brag… No, wait, I love to brag!”

Instinctively the three took a step back and looked between Crowley and the weapon. It was clear that they knew what this was and that the weapon could not only do serious harm to their bodies but also their essences.

“You cannot kill us all, demon,” Sandalphon stated.

“Good point,” Crowley admitted. “But one at least I _can_ kill, maybe seriously harm a second. But yes, it’s likely one of you gets out of a fight unscathed…” Crowley grinned, his fangs showing. “Never took angels for the gambling type, but, hey, I won’t spoil the fun. Any bets? I say Sandalphon dies, Uriel loses an arm and part of her wings and Michael stays in one piece. What do you say?”

Exchanging insecure looks, Uriel and Sandalphon did not move. Michael raised her hand in a placating manner.

“Fine,” she said. “It won’t make any difference,” and to Aziraphale: “Don’t think we’ll protect you if, no, _when_ he turns on you.”

A fanfare sounded, in the distance but not to miss. At least for the demon and the three angels in the alley – the humans did not react.

“Oh, good,” Uriel smiled. “It’s starting.”

The Archangels turned their gaze up and disappeared.

*

With effort Crowley suppressed his sigh of relief to maintain a cool façade. He was very good with a short sword – especially this one – but against three Archangels? Could have gone wrong.

But he put on a charming smile, before elegantly turning around, absolutely convinced he looked nothing but debonair.

“Hi, angel,” he said non-chalantly. “Look, about the thing in the park…”

“You threatened three Archangels,” Aziraphale said. “With an infernal blade.”

Crowley’s eyes fell on the weapon in his hand and he grinned proudly.

“Pretty cool, huh?” he bragged. “The Celestial sword is being difficult about this, not even to speak about Excalibur the little shit, but this one actually can be summoned with a thought.”

Still smirking pompously, he turned to look at Aziraphale again and found that the angel did not look impressed at all. Or satisfied. Or swooning.

“You threatened three Archangels with an infernal blade,” Aziraphale repeated.

“Yeah, I know,” Crowley said irritated. “I was there. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Aziraphale muttered and left the alley with hurried steps. He went in the direction of his bookshop which was fine for Crowley since the Bentley was parked there.

“What?” Crowley called, running after him.

“You can’t be serious,” Azirapale huffed. “You know what trouble we’re in now?”

“We are anyway, angel,” Crowley said. “They know about us. Well, some of it.”

“Again, you threatened three Archangels with…”

“So? Right now they’re busy with the Apocalypse,” Crowley said. “And after that you and I are no longer here.”

Aziraphale stopped.

“What kind of nonsense is that?” he asked. “I told you I won’t…”

“Listen, Aziraphale, it does not matter if you believe that I… what I said at the bandstand,” Crowley spoke. “We can’t save the world anymore. Or did you find the boy?”

“We talked about this,” Aziraphale said, starting to walk again.

“We will not find him in time, angel.” Crowley fell in step with him. “We can’t stop it.”

“Maybe, but someone else could,” Aziraphale gave back. “I’m sure if I can reach the right people…”

“Right people? Like who?” Crowley asked.

“God,” Aziraphale answered like it was the most normal thing to say.

At that Crowley could not help a bitter laugh escaping him.

“God?” he repeated. “The same God that NEVER talks to any of us? The same God that even in the old days would NEVER really give an answer, instead just smile like She knew something you didn't?"

“Yes, but this is different. It’s important. This whole apocalypse thing is wrong and cruel. She can’t want that. She WILL intervene!”

Crowley groaned.

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, grabbing Aziraphale’s arm and manhandled him towards the Bentley. “Get in the car, angel.”

“No, I won’t!” Aziraphale freed himself from Crowley’s grip and walked towards the bookshop again.

“Yes, you will!” Crowley grabbed him again and tried to pull him back to the car.

Aziraphale ripped his arm away once more and continued moving to his home. They probably would have kept going that way until the – literal – end of time, if not for the short red-headed teenager that suddenly stepped between them. She wore an old pair of blue-jeans and a Spiderman-Shirt. Her blue eyes narrowed at Crowley, but she talked to Aziraphale.

“Everything alright, Mr. Fell?” she asked, positioning herself between Crowley and Aziraphale.

Astonished Crowley raised an eyebrow. Sure, she did not know he was a demon and could incinerate her with a snap of his fingers, but even measuring in completely human standards, she was bold. A few inches shorter than Aziraphale and no notable muscles – the nerdy type. And still ready to protect Aziraphale against the bad man. Probably one of the students that he allowed in his bookshop because they used it as a library not a store.

“Mr. Fell is perfectly fine, Miss,” Crowley said to her with a toothy grin before looking at Aziraphale over the rim of his glasses. “Isn’t he?”

“Sure?” A short red-bearded man stepped next to Crowley from behind. “Mr. Fell?”

And another man approached them from the neighboring shop. Crowley sighed. Of course. Aziraphale loved the world and the world loved him.

“This guy threatening you, Mr. Fell?” The third person asked.

With an exasperated sigh Aziraphale raised his hands.

“No, no, he is not threatening me, he is annoying me,” he stated. “But we can’t blame him – that’s just the effect he _has_ on people. I’m fine. Thank you!”

The people still looked unsure but relaxed visibly.

“Let’s discuss this inside, Crowley,” Aziraphale said pointedly and walked to the shop door.

Before Crowley could follow, the man with the red beard stopped him. His expression was friendlier than before and he said empathetically: “I’ve been there, you know? Pressure won’t help. You might be going too fast.”

“So I’ve heard,” Crowley grumbled. He then got the bag out of his car and followed Aziraphale into the bookstore.

When Aziraphale saw that Crowley had entered, he locked the door with a snap and started to drag a carpet aside to reveal a divine circle.

“You really want to call Her now?” Crowley asked while arming himself with the Celestial Claymore. “Did I mention that Hell is after me?”

“You are the only demon welcome in this shop, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “You’re safe here.”

“Not when the world ends.”

“She will take care of that. Now hide, Crowley!”

“You’re sure She’ll take your call?”

“Of course She will.”

She did not.

*

Feeling numb Aziraphale stared at the still glowing circle. He was grateful for Crowley’s anchoring hand on his shoulder and for Crowley to suppress the “I told you so” that without doubt danced on his forked tongue.

God had not talked to him. Only the Metatron had answered his call. The Archangels obviously had not told him about the encounter in SoHo, maybe because it would have made them look equally bad since they assaulted Aziraphale. Or maybe they were embarrassed that three of them had not dared to fight one demon.

But still the call had not been what Aziraphale had hoped it to be. The Metatron had made it crystal clear that Heaven would not stop the Antichrist from summoning the Horsemen and ending the World. He had asked Aziraphale to step into the portal and join Heaven’s ranks, but Aziraphale had bought some time, saying he needed to wrap things up.

Now, with his last remaining faith in Heaven gone, he felt tears prickling in the corner of his eyes but did not allow them to fall. It was time to talk to Crowley who still had a comforting hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder despite his own nervousness. And nervous he was. His right hand was clutching the claymore’s handle and his eyes wandered towards the door ever so often.

Aziraphale would love to fight the Antichrist alone if it meant to save Crowley. But he could not win this battle, especially since Crowley had the weapons, and if he fell while fighting the Antichrist, the boy would destroy the world and Crowley would die, too.

His decision made, Aziraphale took a deep breath and turned to face Crowley.

“I need to tell you something,” he said.

“You foul fiend!” a familiar voice suddenly sounded through the shop. “In league with the forces of darkness!”

“Sergeant Shadwell?” Aziraphale said surprised. “How did you get… Did you pick my lock?”

“You monster,” the old man went on. “Seducing women to do yer evil…”

“Sergeant Shadwell?” Now Crowley peeked out behind the bookshelf, too. “You know each other?”

“Ehm, yes,” Aziraphale said. “He is my contact person for the agents that support me.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and groaned.

“Mine, too. So much for wide spread net,” he sighed and then with a raised brow he asked: “Shadwell, what the Hell are you doing?”

“Getting Bell, Book and Candle to exorcise you two,” Shadwell said. “Yer possessed by demons!”

“What are you talking about, good fellow?” Aziraphale asked placatingly.

“Do you take me for a fool?” Shadwell gave back. “The glowing circle, the strange voice?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak again, but Crowley stepped between him and Shadwell. He smiled a charming smile and approached Shadwell who held a lighter protectively in front of his chest.

“Sergeant Shadwell,” he all but purred. “Don’t you see the warm light emanating from the circle? It is not evil. It protects from evil.”

Shadwell hesitated.

“It is lightblue, yes,” Shadwell nodded. “Not the color of the Devil. But the voices…”

“Mr. Fell and I were powering it up, Shadwell,” Crowley explained. “Maybe we sounded a bit weird, chanting the Holy Words. Why would I support an army of skilled Witchfinders when I was dabbling in evil magic? That would be pretty stupid.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale chimed in. “Making such a capable opponent even more powerful would not be in the interest of evil witches.”

Crowley pointed at Aziraphale with an agreeing nod.

“Ah yes, yer honors,” Shadwell put his lighter away and scratched his head. “I might’ve overreacted.”

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale said. “Of course you have to be ever vigilant. What did you need, my dear fellow?”

Shadwell let his eyes wander between the two men for a few moments. Aziraphale and Crowley both furrowed their brows and the angel was about to ask again when the human finally spoke.

“Nothing, just letting you know that everything is under control and working fine,” Shadwell said, rushing towards the door. “My best men are watching this Adam Young!”

With that he was out of the door. But now Aziraphale had another problem in the form of an angry looking demon who ripped his glasses from his nose and snarled at him.

“Who is Adam Young, Aziraphale?” he asked, locking the shop’s door with a snap of his fingers. “No, let me guess. Young boy, around 11 years old, born in Tadfield Manor?”

Giving Crowley a pleading look, Aziraphale raised his hands in a – hopefully – calming manner.

“I can explain,” he said.

“I’m listening,” Crowley growled.

*

“I can’t believe you,” Crowley snapped at Aziraphale and gave him his darkest expression. It was getting harder by the second to stay mad at Aziraphale who stood in front of him, hands fidgeting, lips pouting and wide blue eyes staring sadly. But Crowley had to make a point.

“I asked you and you lied into my face,” he barked.

“I didn’t really lie…”

“Well, you weren’t exactly telling the truth either, were you?”

“No,” Aziraphale admitted and cast his eyes downwards. “But you would have fought the Antichrist and the Hellhound.”

“Of course!”

“I… I thought Heaven would have had a better chance against him,” Aziraphale explained. “You are strong, Crowley, I know that, but this is the Antichrist.”

“I still don’t see why…”

“I just tried to protect you, Crowley!”

After that Crowley gaped at Aziraphale for a long moment.

“Now that is rich,” he finally said mockingly. “Who got who out of trouble all the time?”

“You me,” Aziraphale admitted. “But…”

“No ‘buts’, angel,” Crowley growled. “You tell me where the boy is, I take care of it. You stay here and…”

“Like Hell I do!” Aziraphale said. “I will help you.”

“Oh no!” Crowley looked at Aziraphale, waving his weapon. “I have the swords and you know shit about fighting.”

“May I remind you that I was the Guard of the Eastern Gate? With a flaming sword?” Aziraphale retorted.

“Oh, yes, of course” Crowley mocked. “The flaming sword you gave away first chance you got so that you were unarmed when you for the first time ever encountered a demon. Oh, right and you even told the demon in question that you were unarmed. Master Warrior, you!”

“I, well, maybe, but you don’t even know which sword to use against him.”

“I will,” Crowley started gesturing wildly. “Figure something out.”

“You are going against the Antichrist, Crowley,” Aziraphale reminded him. “You’ll need a better plan than th… Crowley look out!”

“What? Wh…” Crowley asked, but before he could finish, he felt something warm engulfing his right foot.

Looking down, he could only stare in shock as he saw his foot behind the outer line of the magic circle. Before he could even let out a curse, he was pulled into the ring by an unearthly force. For a second he could see Aziraphale, face full of terror, trying to grab him, but then his line of sight was filled with blue light and he was pulled upwards.

Shit! He had stepped into a portal that would lead him directly to Heaven. Heaven that right now must swarm with angels armed to their teeth and ready to fight. He felt the Celestial Sword still in his hand but that would not do much against the Heavenly Host.

The prickling he always felt close to Divinity became stronger with every second, but suddenly his movements were slowed down. At first he looked around. Nothing. But then he looked down on himself and cursed. He saw his material body dissolving around his demonic essence, leaving nothing but a wavering astral version of his human corporation underneath.

Of course! He had not made the necessary preparations before stepping into the circle. He was dying. Quickly he called upon some powers to strengthen his immaterial form so he could at least hold on to the Claymore. It seemed it would be useful after all where he was going. Not a moment too soon he managed to stabilize his essence and his astral body. Painfully the last remains of his human form were ripped away and he was pulled downwards violently.


	14. Journeys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, go easy on me. Again I am having troubles with the archive (don't know if it's the archive or my internet connection) and I'm just glad I could upload. It's not proofread yet. Sorry for mistakes.  
Hope you enjoy!

The rush downwards came to an abrupt halt and Crowley felt his particles sort themselves out. His essence wavered, appearing like his lost corporation, without clothes of course. Groaning he rubbed his face with his left hand. Standing naked in Hell was no fun. He was relieved to still feel the sword in his right. 

Looking around, he took in several shelves, lockers and weapon racks. Hell’s armory. Great. As expected it was dimly lit. The only sources of illumination were a small desk lamp casting a weak greyish light and the bluish glow of a computer screen.

“Didn’t Beelzebub tell you folks to lay low at the moment?” sounded the bored voice of Rizolvir the whitehaired but otherwise young looking quartermaster. He did not look at Crowley, his ice blue eyes were glued to the screen of his notebook. “Armageddon is near and I’m busy. No new bodies for at least 7 years. Put your name on the waiting list.”

He pointed at a scroll pinned to the wall with his thumb, but still did not face Crowley.

Slowly Crowley stepped closer, grabbing the weapon behind his back with both hands. This would not effectively hide it forever but maybe at least conceal what exactly it was.

“Ah, sorry, Rizolvir, old pal,” he said as friendly as he could. “Can’t wait seven years.”

“Crowley.” Rizolvir finally turned to him, his snow white eyebrows raised. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Impressive.”

With that he started staring at his computer again, the slender fingers flying over the keyboard. Crowley grimaced. Apparently Rizolvir still remembered the time between 3000 and 2000 BC. Back then Crowley and some other demons had held competitions who could get themselves discorporated in the most gruesome way which had led to Rizolvir having to give out new bodies on a regular basis. After he had complained to Beelzebub, she had put a stop to this, leading to a huge amount of paperwork since then needed to get a new body.

“Heh, yes, I know,” Crowley said. “We all get older and wiser, right? Not getting myself killed for sports anymore.”

“And it only took a few hundred years and the intervention of the Prince of Hell,” Rizolvir stated sarcastically.

“Oh, yes.” Crowley did not raise to the bait. “I’m wayyyy more mature these days.”

“Wonderful,” the quartermaster said. “As a mature individual you for sure have learned to wait your turn.”

With a saccherine smile Rizolvir pointed at the list on the wall again.

Crowley sighed. Good news was that Crowley’s betrayal had not made his way down to the quartermaster, bad news was he still hated Crowley.

“Look, Rizolvir,” he tried again, his voice like honey. “I understand that you are still mad. My behavior was childish and stupid. But I haven’t disturbed you for over 4000 years, have I?”

“I hope you don’t think I missed you,” Rizolvir said sardonically without looking up.

“Look,” Crowley purred. “I’m the guardian of the Antichrist. I need to be on Earth in corporeal form for Armageddon.”

Suddenly Rizolvir’s annoyed expression turned into a false smile.

“Oh, that changes everything,” he said. “Unfortunately human bodies are out. I can offer you a hummingbird or an aardvark.”

Crowley forced himself to stay calm. He returned the fake smile.

“Not really my style,” he said.

“Well, as far as I know you can always call on your snake form.” Rizolvir shrugged.

“Yes, but I really appreciated having opposable thumbs,” Crowley answered, his patience wearing thin.

“I’ll call you when there are monkeys or apes available,” Rizolvir promised.

“Rizolvir,” Crowley said pointedly. “I want a human body. Now.”

For the first time since Crowley’s arrival the quartermaster took his hands from his keyboard. Then he slowly walked around his desk to approach Crowley. He stepped into the other demon’s personal space, blue eyes fixed on Crowley.

“Look, _Crawly,_” he said softly but with a threatening undertone. “You may be Satan’s favorite. You may be Dagon’s best agent. You may be the Antichrist’s babysitter. You may be Hell’s finest treasure. You may be more powerful than me. But I am the fucking quartermaster and you will take what I give you or you will wait. Get it?”

“I really didn’t want to do this,” Crowley sighed.

“What’s that supposed to…,” Rizolvir started.

But when Crowley presented his weapon in its full glory, the quartermaster stumbled a step back. But then he chuckled.

“Discorporating me will not help you to…,” Again he stopped himself. His eyes were glued to the weapon in Crowley’s hand and widened as he understood the weapons true nature.

“How did you get this?” he asked breathlessly.

“That’s not really your main concern about it, is it?” Crowley said. “A new body, please. Human, handsome, exact copy of the old one please. If you lost my data, just use the current appearance of my essence as a model.”

“I don’t ‘lose data’,” Rizolvir scoffed. “I’m not Hastur. I know how to use these things.”

He pointed at the computer before returning to his keyboard, Crowley right behind him. It did not take him long to open Crowley’s file and find his body data. With an angry scowl Rizolvir pressed “create again”, causing one of the lockers to open. Lightning fast millions of tiny particles came bursting out of it, rushing towards Crowley. They started engulfing his astral form, rebuilding his lost human body.

Sighing in pleasure Crowley stretched his limbs, feeling like himself again. He grinned at Rizolvir.

“See? Wasn’t that hard, was it?” he said. “Now be a good boy and erase that event from the protocol."

Seething the quartermaster did what he was told.

“So, what now, Cr…?” he began asking.

But Crowley had leant the weapon against the desk, using his now free hand to grab Rizolvir’s temples to erase his memories.

Crowley gasped. Rizolvir was a stubborn and powerful bastard and being dragged halfway to Heaven only to be spit down to Hell had taken a lot out of Crowley. He managed to drain the memory of their encounter out of the quartermaster’s mind, but it left him tired and dizzy. Gathering his last remains of energy, he snapped some clothes to his new body and let himself fall against the wall, exhausted.

When he finally was able to see clearly again, he grabbed the weapon and hid it behind his back again. Keeping his eyes trained on the still dazed quartermaster, he slid along the wall towards the door. He had just opened it when Rizolvir came to and immediately spotted Crowley.

“Crowley?” he asked. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

Faking confidence, Crowley put on a charming smile.

“Oh, hold your horses, Rizzi,” he chuckled. “As you probably know, I was assigned with the whole Armageddon thing. Just checking in if everything is going smoothly down here.”

“Of course it is!” Rizolvir growled. “I’m not an amateur. I got this.”

“Alright, alright,” Crowley placated. “Better safe than sorry, right?”

“Whatever you say, _Crawly_,” the whitehaired demon sneered. “Now go annoy someone else with your ‘safety measures’.”

“On my way.” Crowley gave Rizolvir one last toothy grin before stepping out of the door backwards.

In the corridor Crowley leaned against the wall again. He needed to find a quiet spot to rest for a moment. Without regenerating a bit he would not come far.

*

Aziraphale stared at the portal in shock. How long it had been after Crowley’s disappearance until he finally was thinking clearly again, he could not tell. But fortunately he was before he could follow Crowley in blind panic. Stepping into the portal unprepared would kill his body and would take him right to Heaven. That would not do. Because not only would the quartermaster berate him for discorporating, Crowley would not be there. Losing his human body meant for Crowley going back to Hell. And since Hell knew about Crowley and Aziraphale’s Arrangement, that could not be healthy for Crowley.

A plan formed in his head and he stormed to the door, grabbing a specific book and the bag with the two remaining swords on his way out. The Bentley was parked right in front of the store. Conveniently the doors were open and the keys were in the ignition. Crowley never bothered to secure his car and Aziraphale soon understood why. No matter how often he turned the keys, or how careful he acted on the accelerator, the Bentley would not drive.

After a few fruitless attempts Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“Listen, ehm… hello,” he said. “You probably remember me from the passenger seat and…” he blushed a bit. “Ahem,….the bonnet. I know you’re not used to me driving. But I assure you, it is of great importance that you let me drive.”

Again he turned the key and nothing happened.

“My dear,” he spoke sweetly. “I may not be the best driver, but I swear, I am no worse than Crowley – that would be physically impossible.”

Again no reaction.

“Okay…” His patience was running out. “I know you love Crowley. I do, too. But that is exactly why we need to go now.”

A short sound rang from under the bonnet, but then… nothing.

“Listen up, you stupid vehicle,” he hissed. “Your Lord and Master just managed to get himself killed – in a very stupid way, I might add – and to get him back, I need to go to Tadfield. Now!”

Before he even tried to turn the keys again, the motor came to life and the car was set in motion. The Bentley seemed to know where she was going, but for appearance Aziraphale put his hands on the wheel.

He was determined to get Crowley out of Hell, no matter what it took. Unfortunately though opening a portal to Hell was nothing an angel could accomplish easily. He would need help. A witch might be able to do that. But those women were not running around telling everybody who they were and did not make it easy to find them. Actually Aziraphale currently only knew the whereabouts of one witch. And that still left the problem that they usually did not like working with the agents of Heaven or Hell.

Wistfully Aziraphale looked at the “The nice and accurate prophecies of Agnes Nutter, witch” on the passenger seat. Maybe this witch would be amendable if he came bearing gifts.

Driving a car was easier than Aziraphale recalled it to be. Then again, the last car he tried to steer through London traffic did not do most of the work itself. Even the traffic jam on the M25 was no huge obstacle. The Bentley snake-like slithered between the rows of unmoving cars without anyone noticing, let alone objecting.

Aziraphale was almost ready to relax until they would arrive at Tadfield when suddenly all the people in the cars around them got out of their vehicles, stared into the distance as if hypnotized and started chanting something he did not understand.

The Bentley was unfazed. Unsurprisingly she put the mission of saving Crowley above investigating odd human behavior. And at first Aziraphale did agree until suddenly with a roaring sound huge waves of fire burst out of the ground, blasting away the outer row of cars, setting on fire the next. With widened eyes Aziraphale watched the flames form a fiery ring around the road. He was so caught up in horrified fascination that he barely processed the Bentley still moving forward through the stuck up traffic.

When he finally looked straight forward again, he gave an undignified screech at the sight of the fire wall closing in. Of course he knew it was in fact the Bentley that moved closer to the firewall and he stepped on the brakes immediately.

Unfortunately this barely slowed down the car since she was on a mission, but Aziraphale by now knew what to tell her.

“My dear,” he hurried to say. “If you melt into a puddle of liquid metall and I get discorporated, nobody will save Crowley. So please stop for a second and let me think, will you?”

She came to a halt but not without the engine giving an impatient roar. Making a placating gesture, Aziraphale left the car and evaluated the situation. The air was hot, smoke wavered and it smelled of burned rubber. The surviving humans still stood in trance and chanted. Aziraphale listened.

“Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of worlds,” they spoke in an eerie chorus.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed.

*

_The Bookshop 1981_

_“And so I paid some nerds to hack computers, spent even more on bribing politicians and functionaries, put on a stupid jacket and messed with the sign posts to turn a whole fucking road into an Odegra symbol…,” Crowley ranted drunkenly._

_“Odegra?” Aziraphale hiccupped. “Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of worlds? From this unpleasant priests of MU?”_

_“Exactly,” Crowley nodded delighted._

_“That sounds dangerous…,”_

_“Thank you, angel!” Crowley all but yelled. “Those idiots in Hell didn’t appra… appri…appro… didn’t get how cool that is.”_

*

Annoyed Aziraphale willed a piece of crayon into existence and started drawing protective runes on the Bentley’s bonnet. He murmured apologies while doing so but made it pretty clear that this was necessary. Other angels he had talked to about human magic had always scoffed at him, but he had known it would become useful one day. Even though he never had that specific scenario in mind.

Hesitantly he got back into the car and turned the keys once more. Cooperatively the Bentley rolled towards the wall of flames. The runes on the car’s front flared up but remained. It seemed to work. Even only a few inches away from the fire, it did not feel hotter than before which Aziraphale took as a good sign. So he did not try to stop the Bentley as she rolled right into the flames.

*

Feeling a bit better, Crowley left Hastur’s quarters. The place gave him the creeps, but at least he was sure that the inhabitant of this specific room would not return unexpectedly. So he had used it to catch his breath. He was not at full power again, but at least his vision was no longer blurry and his new physical corporation had set nicely around his essence by now. He should be able to focus on Aziraphale and transport himself to his side if he found a passageway to Earth. The nearest exit was not too far away. He rushed around a corner.

Only his instincts saved him from bumping into Dagon. The other demon stared at him for a moment and Crowley was prepared to grab her and seal her mouth with his hands, should she call for help.

“Crowley!” she exclaimed instead. “I looked for you everywhere on Earth and you run around here?”

“Yeah, I…”

“I can’t find Hastur and Ligur,” she said. “Hastur should be with the Antichrist right now, but neither of them is at Meggido!”

“Oh?”

Crowley used Dagon’s following rant about how she HATED badly coordinated operations to sort his thoughts. It had come to no surprise that Rizolvir knew nothing about what Crowley had done, but Dagon would be one of the first to hear of it. If, yes_ if_ Hastur had told anyone but Ligur. Hastur however was part of "Team Armageddon" just as Crowley. Since Hell was not exactly known for differentiation and fairness, he might have feared to be punished for Crowley’s actions. Maybe he had hoped to lower that risk if he came home with the news AFTER solving the problem. But he and Ligur died trying to solve the problem.

“Are you even listening, Crowley?” Dagon snapped at him and then pointed at the weapon behind his back. “What’s that? Makes my skin itch.”

It would have been easy. She expected no attack and she wanted him to show her the weapon. Crowley could easily have drawn the sword and buried it inside her chest. But he did not.

“Celestial Sword,” he said instead. “Stole it from an Archangel. That’s why I’m here. Thought you might like it. You know, to study it or something.”

“Wow,” she said, genuinely impressed. “May I?”

“Sure.”

This was his last chance. Just letting the blade fall down towards her neck now would have neutralized one of Hell’s most valuable players.

Crowley handed Dagon the weapon.

“Be careful with that. Just take the handle. Don’t touch the blade,” he said.

“Why would I touch the blade?” she snorted.

Fascinated Dagon stared at the claymore.

“Having this might help finding countermeasures,” she said, but then she sobered. “But that does not help me with our current problem. Why is nobody in position?”

“Hey, I just came here to give you that,” Crowley lied. “I don’t know what Hastur and Ligur are up to.”

“It’s crazy!” she said. “I can’t sense them at all. Remember that time when Asmodeus whined he had lost an incubus in America? I thought he was just being stupid, but now…”

“Maybe the upcoming apocalypse messes with our sensory powers?” Crowley offered.

The Lord of the Files went still and seemed to consider his words.

“Shit,” she finally cursed. “Fuck Hastur and Ligur. Our priority is finding the boy.”

“Leave that to me,” Crowley spoke with a self-confident wink. “I raised that boy. Not even his mother - or the woman who thinks she is his mother - knows him better than I do. I’ll find him. Was on my way back to Earth anyway.”

Dagon furrowed her brows in concentration

“I think that would be best,” she nodded finally. “I’ll keep looking for Hastur and Ligur and you take care of the boy.”

“Aye aye, Ma’am,” Crowley saluted with a grin and disappeared around the corner while she shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Inwardly Crowley cursed, the universe and himself. The universe for having him cross path with Dagon of all demons and himself for sacrificing one of his weapons to maintain his façade instead of just killing her.

*

Of course it was uncomfortable to drive right through a wall of magic flames. But at least it was no Hellfire so Aziraphale’s essence was safe and the runes protected his human body and the car. So everything was fine. Until it wasn’t.

Barely notable at first, but in the end not to miss, the Bentley slowed down. But it was neither Aziraphale’s nor the car’s own doing. Frowning, Aziraphale looked out of the window and noticed a change in the flames. They did not flicker as vividly as before and even now their movement seemed to be slowing down further. And after a few seconds he was no longer driving through flames that licked at the car, he was moving through a thick magma-like mass that stuck to the vehicle, slowed it down, until it finally moved no more.

“Oh, bugger,” Aziraphale cursed.

Before he could say more a hollow voice sounded through the thick wall he was now caught in. He did not understand the words it was speaking, so he reluctantly opened a window. Luckily the plasma-like mass outside was so firm by now that it did not pour in.

“Excuse me, what was that?” he asked as politely as his strained patience allowed.

“Only those favored by the Dark Lord may pass!” the voice thundered.

“Oh, my dear, would I be able to ride through flames if I wasn’t favored by the Dark Lord?” Aziraphale asked.

For a moment there was silence. Then the voice spoke again.

“You know the secrets of Mu,” it said. “That does not mean you are favored.”

Aziraphale sighed. Of course. Bodyless voices never were easy to deal with. He rummaged in the foot well to grab the Infernal Shortsword. Careful to only come in contact with the handle, he led the weapon to the window and lightly touched the thick mass with the blade.

“See?” he asked. “Favored enough?”

Again there was silence and after a while Aziraphale feared to have been forgotten, but then the voice sounded once more.

“Your gift was accepted!”

“That’s ni… What? Gift?”

Suddenly a vibrating sound went through the plasma and the Sword was sucked right in and disappeared in the fiery mass. Before Aziraphale could say anymore, the walls retracted, leaving an opening just the right size for the Bentley.

“Oh, dear,” he mumbled, sure that Crowley would not be happy with him. But discussing the return of a gift with incorporeal voices that controlled a huge wall of magical fire did not seem like a good idea. So he let the Bentley steer them out of the Odegra circle, nodded friendly towards two policemen on the other side and carried on towards Tadfield.

*

Neither Aziraphale nor the car had problems recalling the way to Jasemine Cottage and so he could finally knock at the wooden door. He heard shuffling from behind and finally the young lady opened the door. Behind her stood a dark-haired man of about her age. They both looked rather disheveled and Aziraphale tried not to notice the wrongly buttoned blouse Miss Device wore.

“You!” she exclaimed. “You’re the man in the car! You stole my book!”

Aziraphale smiled at her apologetically and handed her the book.

“I really didn’t mean to…” he started but thought better of it. “Listen, dear girl, we both know we don’t have time to discuss, right? The end is nigh.”

She raised her brows in surprise for a second, but then she nodded.

“It is.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “And I suggest we try to stop the end of things. But I really need the help of my friend who unfortunately was sucked into an unfinished portal and is now in Hell. I need your help to get him back.”

The young man behind the witch opened his mouth to say something, but apparently did not really know what to say about this. Anathema seemed unfazed.

“We have no time to waste,” she said. “Sorry about your friend, but...”

“Dear, we can help each other," Aziraphale told her. "I studied your book and I think if we put our interpretations together..."

"My family had this book for centuries," she objected. "How could you have found something in one night that we did not in hundreds of years?"

Aziraphale sighed. He looked down the road and found it empty. Without further hesitation he unfurled his wings. He normally did not do this outside the bedroom and the wind rushing through the feathers was an odd but pleasant sensation.

"I might have a different point of view," he answered her question with a soft smile.

The man stared at him, removed his glasses and kept staring, put the glasses on again and opened his mouth but remained silent. The witch recovered fast.

“Come in then,“ she said simply.


	15. Assembling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to keep you guys waiting. The weekend was a bit chaotic, but here is chapter 15. Again, not yet proofread, I'm sorry. I'll do that in a jiffy. ;) But I did not want to keep you waiting longer.

Still tired and exhausted but driven by the wish, no, the _need_ to find Aziraphale and make sure he was unharmed, Crowley finally reached his goal. It was a red orb pulsating with light. The color choice was just to match Hell’s usual theme – as soon as Crowley touched the orb, it turned into a model of the Earth, appearing in the familiar blue and white.

After taking a deep breath, Crowley tapped into the magic he had Aziraphale marked with many centuries ago. It was harder because Hell was close to Earth and yet far away.

“What’s taking you so long, Crowley?” a voice behind him snarled. “We all have business on Earth.”

“I’m looking for something, Taric,” Crowley growled.

“Yeah, I am, too. Or I would be if you’d stop blocking the orb.”

“I bet my target is more valuable than your’s,” Crowley mumbled and louder he told them: “How about you get Dagon here and we ask her what she thinks about you disturbing my mission?”

Taric fell silent.

Crowley’s face scrunched with his efforts to detect Aziraphale. He relaxed as good as he could, trying to think of the angel’s face, his smile, warm, kind, sometimes mischievous, his eyes, shining with curiosity, love and sometimes anger. Aziraphale beaming upon spotting Crowley. Aziraphale chuckling whenever Crowley joked. His proud giggle when he himself made a joke.

And finally the familiar fine glowing line appeared, leading from his current location to a place somewhere in England. A smile and a sigh of relief escaped Crowley and he made his jump to Earth.

*

The attic of Jasmine Cottage was small and Aziraphale felt more than a little crowded standing here with Anathema and her young man, Newt, was the name as he had learned. But Anathema had insisted to clear the small room under the roof and open the portal here.

“If it blows up, I’ll only have to replace the roof, not the whole house,” she had said and to Aziraphale it had sounded reasonable enough.

Now all three of them stood close to the ladder leading down and stared at the circle the witch had drawn at the far opposite corner of the cottage.

“This is nothing I have ever done,” Anathema repeated.

Aziraphale gave her a patient smile and nodded.

“Yes, my dear,” he said. “Somewhere between the first and sixth time you mentioned this, I understood it.”

Anathema chuckled, uncharacteristically nervous.

“I just don’t want you to take this lightly,” she explained.

“I trust you, Miss Device,” Aziraphale said. “You have done very well and with remarkable confidence.”

“Thanks,” Anathema said dryly. “But that’s not the point. We are talking about Hell. I would not want to be there and something tells me the place is even worse for you.”

“I have to find my friend.”

“Must be a very good friend.”

“The best.” Aziraphale closed his eyes and tried to calm his breath. Thinking about how awful it would be if he lost Crowley, would not help now.

“I understand,” the witch said slowly. “It’s just… Do you think there is a chance he survived this journey? I would not want to risk your life for a lost cause.”

Aziraphale raised his brows in surprise, but then he understood. Of course, he had failed to mention that Crowley was a demon. The witch probably assumed he wanted rescue a human or another angel.

“Oh, believe me,” he smiled. “The journey was no problem for him. But his stay is probably quite unpleasant.”

“I image it is,” Anathema sighed. “Alright, step closer to the circle, but don’t touch it. Wait until I finish the spell.”

Pressing his lips together in determination, Aziraphale stepped towards the circle. Over his shoulder he looked at Anathema and nodded.

She returned the gesture and took a deep breath. In her hands she held the spellbook of her deceased aunt who had left a handwritten warning next to that specific spell (“Do not cast unless it is an emergency and not even then”).

“Ye Lords of the Wat…” she started but stopped immediately as a low rumble sounded through the room.

“Is this a very short spell or is something wrong?” Newt asked, looking around nervously.

Neither Anathema nor Aziraphale dignified this with a response. The angel stepped back from the circle even though it showed no sign of activity. Then he rushed over to the two others in the room and the witch gestured Newt closer as well.

“What was th…”

Before Newt could finish the sentence, a small red sliver appeared in the middle of the room. Without further warning the fabric of the world was ripped open and a dark clothed figure fell through.

“Whoa!”

The lanky man flew towards the group and they managed to dodge him at the last second. With a loud crash he landed in the corner under the inner roof slope.

“Ouch,” Crowley said, obviously trying to make it sound more like a comment than an expression of pain, before standing up.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed and ran towards Crowley, almost falling into his arms. At the last second he remembered himself and stopped. “You’re here.”

“Angel!” Crowley smirked. “Yes, I’m here. Where is here, exactly?”

“Tadfield, Jasmine Cottage to be precise,” Aziraphale answered. “I came here to…”

But Crowley did not listen anymore. Gently he pushed Aziraphale aside and looked at the circle drawn to the floor over the rim of his glasses.

“What’s this?” he asked, dangerously emotionless.

“Ah, this, yes, funny story,” Aziraphale chuckled nervously. “Anathema was so kind to prepare this for me – you know, to save you.”

“Prepare what exactly?” asked Crowley slowly.

“A portal?” Aziraphale answered sheepishly.

“To where?”

“H…hell?”

Slowly Crowley took off his glasses and turned towards Aziraphale.

“A portal to Hell?” he hissed.

“That’s what I said, yes.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Crowley growled

“I wouldn’t know, dear,” Aziraphale said snippily. “The mad man rarely recognizes his own madness. But now you’re here and…”

“Oh no!” Crowley all but shouted. “You don’t get away so easily with something so…”

“Don’t you dare lecture me about what to do in a situation like this.”

“Oh right! Lecturing is_ your_ thing, angel! Because you are so smart.”

“You could be, too. If you’d listen to me every now and then.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes.

*

Of course Anathema knew that averting Armageddon was no quest that allowed much dawdling. And yet she stared silently for quite a while as the two man (or man-shaped beings?) Aziraphale and Crowley – as she had heard – in her attic had an argument.

Sometime during their shouting match both their wings had burst out, both pairs drawn back in an angry threatening gesture. The main difference between the otherworldly appendages was their color. While Aziraphale’s were snow white with a pearly luminescence at the tipps, Crowley’s were dark black. But also the edges of Aziraphale’s were softer, a bit rounded and Crowley’s were sharper and pointed. Aside from his dark wings, his now uncovered eyes gave Anathema a pretty good idea why Crowley had had no problem to survive in Hell.

“You’re so clever!” Crowley shouted at Aziraphale. “How can someone as clever as you be SO stupid?”

“You have some nerve calling me stupid,” Aziraphale snapped back. “I’m not the one who stepped into an incomplete portal! I was worried sick!”

Newt stepped closer to Anathema so she would hear his whispering over the two supernatural beings yelling at each other.

“So?” he uttered. “An angel and a demon?”

“Seems like it…”

“Shouldn’t they be… I don’t know… fighting?”

“Well, technically they are…”

“You know what I mean,” Newt whispered. “I mean Fireball against Holy Shield, red light saber against blue light saber, a serious deadly fight, not like a… a…”

“A lovers’ quarrel?”

“Yeah…”

“Be that as it may,” Crowley roared after a while. “If you had just listened to me when I told you to leave this doomed planet, none of this would have happened.”

“Again? I told you I am not leaving Earth to its destruction and…”

Before Aziraphale could finish, the witch raised her hand and spoke: “As an inhabitant of planet Earth I am with the angel on not letting it be destroyed.”

“Yeah, me, too,” said the young man next to her, also raising his hand.

Crowley rolled his eyes and snarled at them: “Well, this isn’t a vote, Bookgirl and… who are you anyway?”

“Private Newton Pulsifier, sir,” the young man introduced himself.

“Private? Of what?”

“The Witchfinder Army, sir.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said excitedly. “You’re the young man Sergeant Shadwell sent to keep Adam Young under surveillance.”

“Yes,” nodded Newt proudly.

“Adam?” Anathema repeated surprised. “Why in the Hell – no offense – would anyone keep Adam under surveillance? He is the sweetest boy.”

“My dear, he is the Antichrist,” Aziraphale told her. “Have you met him?”

“Several times,” the witch said. “He and his friends brought Newt to me after his accident.”

“The Antichrist carried me here?”

Crowley sighed and shot her an arrogant look.

“He is the Antichrist,” he said condescendingly. “He is supposed to seem harmless so that he won’t be burnt at the stake before he comes to power.”

“But he already _came_ to power,” Aziraphale stated thoughtfully. “And still helped a man in need…”

“I don’t know what he is playing at,” Crowley said. “But we have to find and stop him.”

“Tadfield Airbase,” Aziraphale announced. “That’s where he should be or be heading to at least.”

“Why?”

“That’s the place where the end of the world starts,” Aziraphale explained. “If Agnes Nutter is correct.”

“She always is,” Anathema said defensively and suddenly her eyes brightened. “Airbase!”

Quickly she climbed down the ladder and was heard rushing through the cottage. For a moment the remaining men looked at each other before following her.

They found her in her kitchen where she greeted them with Agnes Nutter’s book in her hand. Triumphantly she pointed at one of the prophecies.

“Airbase,” she repeated. “Where the iron bird lands no more.”

“Yes, Aziraphale already said that,” Crowley sighed.

“I know,” the witch smiled. “But I think I know a way in.”

*

To say Crowley was furious, would be an understatement. Not only had Aziraphale without him decided to travel to the lion’s den, he had also enlisted a witch’s help to open a portal to Hell. The moment this angel was unsupervised, he went looking for trouble. And then he had the nerve to give Crowley lip! For a while angel and demon had exchanged more or less reasonable arguments and it lead them nowhere. So Crowley was fine with dealing with the impending end of the world first.

Aziraphale – of course – had solved the puzzle and located the starting point. Now Anathema was grabbing her book and Newt was putting on his coat. When finally everybody was ready to leave, there was a pounding at the door.

“Oh, for Heaven’s…” Anathema cursed under her breath.

She rushed to the door and had barely opened it one inch when it was pushed open completely, revealing a seething Sergeant Shadwell, armed with an ancient shot gun. Behind him stood a red-haired lady who shook her head, Crowley was not sure at what exactly.

“Stay back, unholy creature,” Shadwell yelled at Miss Device.

The witch instinctively took a step back and Aziraphale stepped between her and the old witchfinder before Crowley could.

“Sergeant,” Aziraphale said. “Whatever have you got there?”

“The thundergun of Witchfinder Colonel Dalrymple,” Shadwell answered proudly. “I filled it with bricks!”

“Oh, that could be helpful,” Aziraphale commended. “You should come with us and…”

“I saw the signs, yer honor!” Shadwell babbled. “Young Newt is in mortal danger!”

Taking this as his cue, Private Pulsifier stepped out of the kitchen.

“I’m fine, Sergeant Shadwell!” he announced. “But we really need to…”

“Take care of that witch! Aye, Private!” Shadwell interrupted and wanted to rush past Aziraphale to grab her.

Aziraphale stopped him non to gently and Anathema smirked.

“He already took care of me,” she said softly and Newt blushed.

It was clear from Shadwell’s facial expression that he did not understand what was going on. His redheaded companion obviously did, judging by her knowing smile.

“Sergeant Shadwell,” Aziraphale said. “We have more urgent matters to take care of. The end of the world is coming.”

“Right,” Crowley said. “We need to stop the Antichrist…”

“No! The witch…” Shadwell wagged his weapon around like an excited dog his tail. It was hilarious and dangerous. “Private Pulsifier…”

“…negotiated with the witch,” Aziraphale interrupted him. “In order to save the world, ehm…”

“…he convinced her to give up her evil ways,” Crowley finished.

“And in exchange for a pardon…”

“…she will use her power to help us…”

“…against the rising forces of Evil.”

“Right!” Crowley and Aziraphale simultaneously exclaimed after finishing their story.

“Ah…” Shadwell scratched his head.

“You must admit, Sergeant Shadwell, that the apocalypse is nothing a reasonable person would allow to happen,” Aziraphale said while he ushered everybody out the door. “Who are _you_ by the way?”

That was aimed at Shadwell’s companion and she gave Aziraphale a smile.

“Oh, I am Madame Tracy, I am a medium,” she told him. “And I paid for the cab that brought us here.”

“Speaking of, we won’t all fit in my car,” Crowley announced when the group arrived at the Bentley.

With a sad sigh Newt pointed down the road at a blue Wasabi car that pathetically lay on its roof, the windows broken and the bonnet dented.

“Dick Turpin’s not operational, I’m afraid,” he said wistfully.

“Your car’s name is Dick Turpin?” Aziraphale asked. “Like the highwayman?”

“Yes.”

“Why would y… Oh!” Aziraphale beamed. “Everywhere he goes, he holds up traffic!”

“Exactly!” Newt smiled back broadly.

“That’s clever! And funny!” Aziraphale nudged Crowley. “Isn’t that clever and funny?”

Crowley rolled his eyes and also used the moment in which everybody was staring at Aziraphale and the nerd with wide eyes to snap his fingers.

“Yeah, I don’t know what the problem is,” he said. “Dicky looks fine to me.”

Everybody turned to look at the car in question and to their astonishment found that a perfectly fine – at least fine for that model – Dick Turpin parked on the road, waiting to contribute to saving the world.

“Ooookay.” Anathema was the first human to recover. “I suggest, Newt, Aziraphale and myself drive ahead and the rest follows our lead so we all…”

“Oh no,” Crowley interrupted, shaking his head. “I don’t care how the rest organizes, but Aziraphale is coming with me.”

“Am I now?”

“Oh, you are!”

Crowley recognized Aziraphale’s “make me” look and was all too happy to indulge the angel. He grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist and pulled him towards the Bentley. The humans, in silent agreement to leave the two supernatural beings to themselves, rushed towards Newt’s car. Crowley all but pushed Aziraphale to the passenger’s seat and closed the door. When Crowley was seated behind the wheel, he looked around.

“So, angel,” he spoke. “You want to tell me how my car got here, why she smells like ashes, why there is crayon on her bonnet and where my short sword is?”

“I convinced her to drive here by telling her that her idiotic owner went to Hell, _someone_ turned the M25 into a huge Odegra symbol which caught fire today, the crayon symbols protected me and the car from the flames and the bodiless creatures living in the fire stole the sword,” Aziraphale explained like he reiterated what he had for breakfast.

“Ah,” said Crowley.

Then Newt’s car passed by and Crowley started the Bentley to follow it.

A heavy silence wavered in the car during the ride. Aziraphale stared out of the window mostly. He had his hands put in his lap and nervously entwined his fingers, only to disentangle them again after a few seconds. He was angry – obviously. Crowley could deal with anger. But there was also a lingering sadness emanating from Aziraphale. Crowley could not deal with sadness very well.

Crowley bit his lip. Part of him wanted to yell at Aziraphale again, put him in his place and make abundantly clear who was in charge here. But there also was the part of him who loved Aziraphale’s bolder side: the rebellious angel who against Heaven and Hell worked hard to stop the apocalypse, the determined angel who convinced a stubborn car to drive him to Tadfield, conquering a fire wall on the way, the protective angel who against all odds fought for humanity, the brave angel who was willing to go to Hell to save Crowley, the confident angel who despite loving Crowley did not hesitate to get in his face.

Inwardly Crowley cursed himself and managed to suppress a groan of frustration with himself when he finally understood. Aziraphale loved Crowley. Just like the other way around. Of course Aziraphale would do ANYTHING to save Crowley. Nobody knew better than Crowley himself which great lengths someone was willing to go for love, even though it had taken Crowley a long time to understand that it _was_ love that drove him to do all this for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale must have been scared out of his mind after realizing Crowley was in Hell. Crowley himself had told Aziraphale that Hell had found out about them. But unlike Crowley Aziraphale had no way of knowing that Hastur had not told anyone but Ligur. Until his appearance in Jasemine Cottage Aziraphale had had no idea whether Crowley was still alive or not. So after being worried sick for hours, Aziraphale had been reunited with Crowley, only for Crowley to yell at him, scold him and call him stupid.

_Okay,_ Crowley thought. _I’m an asshole and an idiot._

But before he could say this or something similar aloud, the tiny blue car in front of him came to a halt. The four humans got out of their car so Aziraphale and Crowley assumed they had arrived at their destination and did the same.

Next to the sorry excuse of a road a high wire fence sealed off a part of the wood and would have kept intruders away if not for the recently disrooted tree that had crushed a segment of the barrier. Determined Anathema stomped over the fallen giant.

“Do you really believe…?” Newt called after her and only reluctantly followed.

“We’ve been over this,” she gave back. “I don’t _believe_, I _know_!”

With that she continued and sighing Newt rushed after her.

“Yer honors?” Pressing his weapon to his chest, Shadwell turned to Crowley and Aziraphale. “This Antichrist – how many nipples does he have?”

“Pfff,” Aziraphale rasberried. “Oodles.”

“Yes,” Crowley confirmed. “No way to count them.”

“Oh!” Shadwell rushed after Anathema and Newt without further ado.

Madame Tracy wanted to follow him, but Crowley stopped her.

“You should wait here in one of the cars,” he stated. “You’re in no way equipped to fight.”

“Oh, but you are?” she asked softly. And while Crowley still stared dumbfounded and thought about her answer, she climbed over the tree and followed the other humans.

“Hey, I got a magical sword,” he finally called after her and grabbed the bag with Excalibur from his car.

“But to be fair, it does not like you,” Aziraphale said.

“Can’t blame it, huh?” Crowley asked, looking guiltily at Aziraphale with a sheepish smile.

Aziraphale’s hardened features relaxed and there was a faint token of a blush on his cheeks.

“Oh, at the end of the day it’s just a sword,” he said softly. “What business does it have judging people?”

Crowley chuckled and offered his hand to Aziraphale to help him over the fallen tree. To his great relief Aziraphale accepted it.

*

When they caught up with the humans, Newt, Shadwell and Tracy stood behind Anathema whose gaze switched between one of the buildings and a group of children.

“What is it?” Crowley hissed.

Anathema turned to him with a frown.

“I’m not sure,” she answered. “There is Adam. I still cannot read his aura but since we established that he is the Antichrist, I won’t dwell on it. But this building… I feel four strong presences in there, but… Oh my God, there they are.”

In fact four people left the building in question and Crowley knew exactly who they were. One look at his angel told him that Aziraphale recognized them, too.

“These are the horsemen, dear,” he explained to Anathema. “Here for their final ride.”

“What were there doing in there?”

“Nothing good,” Crowley stated unnecessarily before giving orders: “Alright, Bookgirl, Nerdboy, get in there and find out what the horsemen did and if possible _undo_ it. The rest follows me. Shadwell, brandish your weapon.”

Nobody stopped them on their way over the airfield. The soldiers did not because they all had fallen asleep. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse did not because they did not deem them worthy of their attention. The four children looking at the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse did not because they were, well, looking at the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse which captured their full attention.

So they came close enough for Crowley to point at Adam and yell at Shadwell: “That’s him, that’s the Antichrist, the curly one. Shot him, save the world.”

Shadwell’s eyes widened in shock and indignation.

“That’s just a wee bairn!” he exclaimed. For a moment he hesitated, but then he lowered his weapon.

“Oh for Somebody’s sake!” Crowley growled and grabbed the gun.

He felt Madame Tracy’s small hands on his arm.

“You can’t just shoot children!” she cried out.

“I have no choice!” Easily Crowley yanked his arm free of her weak grip and readied the weapon.

“He looks like a normal kid…” Aziraphale said uncertain. “Maybe we should wait?”

“Wait? ‘til he grows up?” Crowley hissed. “I don’t like killing kids any more than you, but…”

Suddenly Crowley lifted his arms without meaning to. His limbs did no longer obey him and pointed the weapon towards the sky. Against his will his slender fingers circled around the trigger and pulled. With a loud whistling sound the one shot he had with Witchfinder Colonel Dalrymple’s thundergun was fired into a targetless sky.

Crowley’s golden eyes met the blue ones of Adam Young. The demon felt the boy’s gaze pierce into him, searching through his thoughts, reading his mind and soul. It was the most terrifying experience Crowley had ever made. He felt naked, vulnerable, laid bare. Finally the boy’s unblinking stare turned into a warm look and the eerie feeling of his mind being rummaged through like an old toy chest in a dusty basement ceased.

“We don’t have to shoot each other,” Adam Young smiled at Crowley. “I’m one of the good guys. Just like you.”


	16. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the ending of this chapter a bit cheesy? Maybe. But it's not my fault. I have a horrible cold and I always get super emotional then. Sue me! (please don't sue me). xD

After Crowley – visibly against his will – had fired the thundergun into the skies, Aziraphale was not sure whether feeling scared or relieved was appropriate. This had been their Plan A against the Antichrist and the utter lack of Plan B made its failure quite unfortunate. Then again, Aziraphale really did not know how Crowley would deal with the burden of having killed a child that so far had done nothing wrong – at least not willingly or on purpose. The choice of the Hellhound’s form alone left Aziraphale doubting that this boy was all about killing and destroying and Crowley must have seen that, too.

With one look Adam read all their hearts and souls, Sergeant Shadwell’s, Madame Tracy’s, Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s. But the boy’s eyes, warm and friendly and blue, lay on Crowley when he spoke: “We don’t have to shoot each other. I’m one of the good guys. Just like you.”

Aziraphale half expected Crowley to sputter irately and list a dozen of reasons why he was absolutely _not_ good and in fact a hazard to society and environment alike. But Crowley did nothing of that sort. He just stared at the boy while his arms and hands went limb so the gun slipped from his grasp.

The Antichrist had not come alone and he had chosen his friends wisely. They showed no fear towards the horsemen. War tried to intimidate them, but only managed to enrage the girl named Pepper with a misogynistic comment which led to a well-placed kick against the red cladded biker’s foot and the loss of her sword. The girl did not hesitate to draw her own sword which was – in fact – made of hasty collected wood and a string. It was not real, but neither was War. She was a nightmare born of fear and hate, and today, here in that very moment in that very place, a young girl’s courage and loyalty was enough to turn a self-made toy into an effective weapon against War. When Pepper’s sword connected with War’s body, the rider let out a cry of rage and was sucked up by her own sword.

“Looks like your’s, angel.” Crowley tilted his head and pointed at the sword.

“That’s probably because it _is_ mine. Or it was,” Aziraphale said quietly.

The two boys that were with Adam attacked Pollution and Famine with more self-made weapons that should not have worked at all but did. The two horsepersons disappeared in a white and a black cloud, leaving only Death staring at Adam through empty eyeholes.

“This has to stop,” Adam said calmly.

“It _has_ stopped,” Death answered. “I do not understand. You are supposed to be the bringer of the end.”

“I choose not to be,” Adam shrugged.

“Choosing? That’s… a human’s right after all,” Death said slowly. “Very well. But remember, we are never far away. Good day, gentlemen.”

With that the last Horseman spread his nightlike wings and disappeared. A moment later Famine’s scale, Pollution’s crown and War’s sword dissolved into grey fog and disappeared with a sudden movement of the air.

“’Good day, gentlemen’,” Madame Tracy mimicked with an irritated look on her face while gesturing between herself and Pepper. “How rude!”

“Disrespectful,” Pepper agreed with a nod and crossed her arms with a dark mien on her pretty face.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley who with an incredulous expression pointed towards the children.

“Did a bunch of kids just beat the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?” he asked.

“I do believe they did, dear,” Aziraphale smiled.

For the moment no noise was heard and there was no movement in the air. It was like Earth held her breath. Everybody turned their heads when suddenly hasty footsteps broke the silence and Anathema and Newt joined the group on the airfield.

“What happened? What did we miss?” Anathema asked breathlessly. “Adam? Pepper? Brian? Wensleydale? Are you kids alright?”

“Yes,” Adam nodded and smirked. “You stopped them from blowing up the world, right?”

“I guess,” Anathema winked and took Newt’s hand. “Well, actually Newt did.”

“How?” Crowley asked, still visibly struggling with grasping the situation.

“By breaking a computer.”

“Ah…”

“See, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “Aren’t you glad we did not just leave? Together we managed to all be here in time and stop…”

“Oh, it isn’t over,” Crowley interrupted him. “Heaven and Hell still want their war. Not even to speak of the fact they will want our heads.”

Adam furrowed his brows and shook his head.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I know about the two of you. I won’t allow anyone to hurt you.”

As if on cue there was a shift in the atmosphere and the air crackled with electricity. Not long after three flashes of lighting came down from the sky and three white robed figures appeared on the airfield. The Heavenly delegation was led by the Metatron with his usual stoic and emotionless expression while Michael to his left looked stern and determined, Gabriel to his right annoyed and tense.

To the angels’ right the ground burst open and three darker figures emerged, Lord Beezlebub in the middle. The dark-haired female-shaped demon led two others Aziraphale did not recognize, but from the sudden tension in Crowley’s body, the demon did.

The two groups of newly arrived supernatural beings looked at each other for a moment but then started marching towards the people assembled on the airfield.

Aziraphale gulped. That could not be good.

*

Frowning Crowley watched the delegations of Heaven and Hell approach. He hated to see the hopeful smile on Aziraphale’s face fade. Metatron, Gabriel and Michael positioned themselves to the right of the group around the Antichrist. Hell’s representatives assumed the position to the left. To see Beelzebub and Dagon had to be expected, the third demon’s presence confused even the Heavenly agents.

“Lord Asmodeus?” Metatron said with what would have been a surprised expression if his facial expression had been capable of carrying emotions at all. “We did not expect to see you. To our knowledge politics are not your field of expertise.”

Asmodeus mumbled something that sounded like “That’s what I said…”, but Dagon nudged him and he fell silent, rolling his eyes.

“The demon that usually fills this position is… occupied otherwise,” Beelzebub said annoyed. “Just because your lot is incapable of being flexible, doesn’t mean we are, too.”

“We made a simple observation, Lord Beelzebub,” said the Metatron in his unnervingly calm voice.

Beelzebub opened her mouth for another rejoinder, but then Dagon’s hand was on her shoulder and the Lord of the Files whispered something in her superior’s ear.

“Yes, you’re right, that’s not important right now,” Beelzebub nodded and turned to Crowley. “What in Satan’s name are you doing, Crowley? You were supposed to find the Antichrist.”

Crowley lifted his arms and gestured with his hands.

“I sort of did,” he said and pointed at Adam.

Immediately Beelzebub and the Metatron stepped forward and approached Adam. Unafraid but curious the boy looked up to meet their gaze.

“Adam Young!” The Voice of God said. “We appreciate your good intentions, but we must insist for Armageddon to start now. The fight to wipe out Evil must begin.”

“I don’t understand the use of wiping out Evil if there will be no one left to enjoy the evilless world,” Adam said.

“You must not understand, you must do what is your destiny to do.”

“He already told the scary guy with the black cloak that he chose not to,” Brian said to support Adam.

“Listen, Adam,” Beelzebub spoke in a voice like honey and velvet, so unlike her usual sharp and cutting tone. “I understand the wish to rebel, I really do. But you see, destiny is something beyond rebellion. In fact Armageddon will be the grand finale of the first rebellion. Help us, the first rebels ever, to finish what we started. Then you can rule the world and shape it after your will.”

“We know of course that this will only end the first rebellion because it will be the rebels’ end,” the Metatron said toneless. “But we agree that it must come to an end. Soon.”

Before Beelzebub could answer, Adam spoke: “Just so you know. I don’t wanna rule the world. I won’t clean up everybody’s mess.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t even clean up his own messes,” Pepper said helpfully from the side.

“It’s only an analogy, Pepper,” Adam sighed before addressing the supernatural beings again. “And I will not destroy the world just so you two can find out whose gang is stronger.”

“But that is the Great Plan,” Metatron said. “The reason for Earth’s creation.”

“It is written,” Beelzebub agreed. “You can’t refuse to be what you are.”

“Actually, I think he just did,” Wensleydale said, not without a certain smugness.

Adam turned to smile at his friends. That was why he missed the subtle exchange of glances and the short nod between the Metatron and Beelzebub. When the boy turned back, Beelzebub put a hand on his shoulder and smiled.

“Reconsider,” she purred. “It is in you, you must follow the Great Plan. Think!”

“Yes, it is in your genes.” Now the Metatron touched Adam’s other shoulder. “The Great Plan must be realized. Think!”

Crowley’s eyes widened. That was not good. Adam was strong, but now the most powerful beings of Heaven and Hell (not counting the Big Bosses) tried to influence his mind. They kept talking about the Great Plan and the determination on the boy’s face was replaced by a frown. His lashes fluttered as the voices flooded him and confusion crept along his features. Adam’s hands found their way to his temples and he started rubbing them. If Beelzebub and Metatron kept this up, it would not take long for…

“Ehm, excuse me!” Aziraphale left Crowley’s side and walked over to stand behind Adam before Crowley could grab and stop him.

“You keep talking about the Great Plan,” he said. “Just to make sure at this point: Would this be the _Ineffable_ Plan as well?”

If not for the graveness of the situation, a fond smile would have crept onto Crowley’s face. There stood the three most powerful beings of the universe (again, not counting the Big Bosses of Heaven and Hell) and his angel walked over to discuss their phrasing with them.

Behind the Metatron Crowley saw Gabriel making desperate hand signs at Aziraphale to make him shut up. To no avail. Beelzebub and Metatron still had their hands on the boy, but their eyes lay on Aziraphale.

“You know of the Great Plan, Principality Aziraphale,” the Metatron said, his emotionless façade slowly fissuring.

“Everybody does,” Beelzebub snapped. “It is written: There shall be a world, it shall last 6000 y…”

“Yes, of course, the Great Plan,” Aziraphale interrupted in a polite voice. “But I am specifically asking about the _Ineffable_ Plan.”

Understanding spread across Crowley’s face. Aziraphale was questioning more than just the phrasing, he questioned the meaning. Crowley sauntered over and stood to Adam’s right, resisting the urge to take Aziraphale’s hand. Now it was Dagon’s turn to make a “what do you think you’re doing?” gesture.

“They are the same… We think…” The Metatron for the first time seemed unsure.

“You think?” Aziraphale asked. “But shouldn’t you know?”

“He can’t know,” Crowley said smugly. “By definition. It’s ineffable.”

“It is written!” insisted the Metatron and Beelzebub nodded.

“The Great Plan is, yes,” Crowley agreed. “But it can only be a part of the Ineffable Plan, right? Maybe it is written differently somewhere where you can’t read it.”

“In a neater handwriting,” Aziraphale suggested.

“On better paper.”

“With ink of higher quality.”

Beelzebub and Metatron looked at their two rogue agents, then at the Antichrist, then at each other. Both said nothing and finally took their hands off of Adam.

Crowley took advantage of their silence. He put his hands in his leatherpants’ pocket, lifted his shoulders and said casually, “Maybe God’s not testing humanity but you.”

“She… wouldn’t play games with Her loyal servants,” the Metatron said.

Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow at that and Crowley snorted. The Metatron ignored it and collected himself.

“We are sure the Great Plan is Her will,” he finally stated. “After all She did not stop us.”

“She didn’t stop anyone here,” Crowley said annoyed. “Say about Her what you will, She is clever enough that She must’ve known what would happen. She made humans as humans. She can’t be surprised when they act like it. Like eating forbidden fruits and ruin Armageddon. They mess around with well-made plans. It’s their thing. And you know what? I’m beginning to think She likes that.”

“We have our orders,” the Metatron said.

“So do I,” said Beelzebub.

“And that doesn’t strike you as odd?” asked Aziraphale.

“What do you mean?” Beelzebub wanted to know.

“That both of you, second in command to God and Satan have the same orders,” Aziraphale elaborated. “It’s been a while that I saw Lucifer and he and I weren’t exactly close, but he wasn’t one to share God’s opinions, was he? Especially shortly before the rebellion his favorite pastime was disagreeing with Her.”

“Yeees,” Crowley recalled with a grin. “Near the end God couldn’t even say ‘Good morning’ without Luce being like ‘oh, I don’t know about _that_, mother’.”

“So I don’t know whose Great Plan Armageddon is,” Aziraphale concluded. “But I highly doubt it is God’s _and_ Lucifer’s.”

When Aziraphale had finished, Crowley felt something change. Not like he had as the hellhound had found its master, it was older, more familiar, it felt good but also incredibly dangerous.

“Smart angel,” a soft voice spoke in a seductive tone, not very loud but still for everyone to hear since the speaker simply wanted to be heard. “It is – in fact – _my_ plan.”

A blinding light shone from behind the delegations and the shape of a man, robed in white, appeared. To say that he was beautiful would have been an understatement. His long silver hair fell down on narrow but strong shoulders, his face was soft but defined and his eyes were like black pearls. His wings were pearly white with golden tips and he walked as elegantly as if he was floating on air. His appearance, his smile, his whole presence was intimidating and magnetic at the same time.

The angels instinctively took a step back, but Beelzebub, Dagon and Asmodeus sank to their knees. Crowley faintly remembered that he should probably kneel as well, but he was too busy positioning himself between Aziraphale and Lucifer. Aziraphale obviously had the same idea so they bumped into each other awkwardly and for a second communicated with eyes and brows to determine who would protect who. Crowley won by combining a very stern look with a low growl. Reason told him that his body would not really be a useful shield against Lucifer himself, but somehow he felt better.

“Master, what are you doing here?” Beelzebub was still kneeling but dared to look up.

“And what do you mean that it is your plan?” Metatron demanded. “The Great Plan is of divine origin!”

Lucifer laughed. It should have been horrifying but it was a melodious harmonic sound like silverbells.

“Is it, oh Voice of God?” he mocked. “Did _She_ say that? Or did She just not object when the text appeared on your desk and you told everyone about it?”

“We have…” the Metatron stopped himself midsentence and looked at the two Archangels standing by his side. His own uncertainty was reflected in their eyes.

“Oh, of course, She would never stay silent, right?” Lucifer asked sarcastically. “She is such a talkative type.”

“She speaks to us when She decides it is necessary,” the Metatron said weakly. “We do not…”

“…not question, yes, yes, I know that,” Lucifer chuckled. “She and I are still connected, you know. I think She does it to torture me, remind me of what I lost. And oh, it works! But that way I can hear her speak whenever She does. Only, She doesn’t. Not anymore. Actually the last time She spoke, She did so to a little insignificant principality, asking about his Flaming Sword. Over 6000 years ago.”

Crowley cast a surprised glance at the present angels. He had known that God was pretty passive and that she had not spoken to Aziraphale after the Sword incident, but that no angel had heard from Her was… concerning.

“We need to confer about our further actions,” the Metatron announced and he and the two Archangels prepared to leave.

“There are humans here in mortal danger!” Aziraphale called out to him.

“We all choose our path and so did they,” answered the Metatron.

He and Michael disappeared with a flash of lightning. Gabriel was still there.

“Are you coming, Aziraphale?” he asked and when the principality did not react, he assured him smiling: “Hey, you were right after all! Nobody will be mad.”

“I’ll rather stay and do my job of protecting humans,” Aziraphale said coolly.

Gabriel gave him an inscrutable look, then he nodded and was gone, too, the next moment.

Lucifer’s beautiful dark eyes fell on Aziraphale and he smiled. Then he winked seductively at Crowley.

“I know I told you to have some fun after making humanity Fall,” he purred. “But when I said ‘get yourself an angel’ I meant something like discorporating him, torturing him, maybe raping him. I certainly didn’t mean to keep him for centuries and pamper him.”

“Uh, well, you know…”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Lucifer said. “You did a great job on Earth and if that’s your way of staying motivated, that’s okay.”

His face grew darker.

“What is not okay, Crowley,” Lucifer continued. “Is trying to stop MY plan by influencing my son.”

“I…”

“THIS.ENDS.NOW.” Lucifer bellowed. “Look, what you’ve done! It will take a lot of effort to get him back on track!”

Someone cleared their throat and carefully Dagon lifted her head.

“M…maybe that’s not necessary, Master,” she said carefully. “I have been thinking.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Of course you have, Dagon,” he said dismissively.

Dagon ignored or did not notice his tone and kept talking.

“We don’t need Earth as a battle ground,” she said. “It’s a big universe. We can attack Heaven from anywhere. They are bad at strategy, we’d always have the advantage of surprise. And if Earth keeps existing, we get to keep our never ending supply of human souls, which make us stronger so we fight better and heal faster.”

With a fake smile Lucifer turned to her and gestured her to get up. When she did, he in mock tenderness cupped her cheeks.

“But Earth would still exist, right?”

“Ehm, yes, but strategically…”

“I don’t care about strategy!” he yelled as he pushed Dagon away with unearthly force, making her crash to the ground with a cry of surprise and pain. “I want this planet in ruins!”

Without hesitation Beelzebub jumped to her feet and helped Dagon up.

“What is your problem?” she snarled. “Dagon has a point. This planet can…”

“This planet is our ‘dear’ Mother’s pet project,” Lucifer said dangerously. “Our Mother who dared putting me second to Her stupid hairless monkeys. Our Mother who banished me when I demanded back what is rightfully mine. She denied me, She humiliated me and She will watch Her beloved Earth burn to ashes. And whether Her marionettes win or mine, She will see every single one of Her precious humans die.”

Beelzebub stared at Lucifer in disbelief, mouth agape, eyes wide.

“Lucifer,” she said. “We put our trust in you. We are willing to give our lives for our cause. You remember? Freedom of Will? Independence? And all you care about is your petty revenge?”

“Petty?” he repeated fuming.

“Yes, petty!” she growled. “We all were working for our cause, Dagon comes up with an idea how less of us get killed for it and your contribution? Acting like a spoiled child because Mommy was mean to you a couple of millennia ago.”

Nobody saw Lucifer’s right hand swing, so swift was the movement. But when it connected with Beelzebub’s cheeks, the Lord of the Flies sank down to the concrete ground immediately, unconscious. Dagon knelt beside her, Asmodeus stood frozen.

Lucifer looked down at Beelzebub scornfully, sneered at Dagon’s worried expression and then laid his eyes on Adam.

The Morning Star focused on the boy and walked towards him. The human adults noticed and rushed towards the children. Anathema grabbed Pepper and dragged the feisty girl away. Newt and Madame Tracy did the same with Brian and Wensleydale, but when Sergeant Shadwell wanted to get Adam to safety, the poor Witchfinder was seized by an invisible force and thrown a few steps over the airfield. The others screamed for a second but sighed in relief as Shadwell groaning and cursing scrambled back to his feet.

“Forgive me, Sergeant,” Lucifer spoke with his silvertongue. “But I really need a word with my son.”

Adam looked at the Fallen Archangel with disdain and defiance.

“You’re not my father,” he announced. “And if you’re here to tell me to destroy the world, you’re not the first today. And like the others, I’m…”

Lucifer’s pale fingers pressed against Adam’s mouth. They boy fell silent, his dog that had been growling at Lucifer fell asleep.

“Enough of that,” Lucifer said sternly but with a dark smile. “I will dive into your mind now to… reorganize it. That is going to hurt. Very much. But hey, since you are my son, you can tell me anytime you decide to do what I want of your free will so I can stop burning your brain from the inside.”

Maybe it was Lucifer’s uncanny gaze, maybe the dark determination in his words or maybe Adam could simply feel the immense power Lucifer had, but for the first time since Crowley had met the boy, there was fear on his face.

Something protective flared up in Crowley. This boy had been brave, braver than a lot of adult soldiers Crowley had met. He had literally stood against Heaven and Hell to stand up for what he believed was right. He was even willing to protect Crowley and Aziraphale from any harm though barely knowing them. And now he needed protection.

Crowley stepped beside Lucifer and pushed him. The Morning Star obviously had not expected that and actually stumbled away from the boy. Aziraphale took the opportunity to grab Adam’s shoulders and maneuver the boy behind him. Crowley once more positioned himself between Aziraphale and Lucifer.

The Fallen Archangel chuckled. When he looked into Crowley’s face, Crowley saw the formerly black irises burning like fire.

“You shouldn’t have done this, Crowley, darling,” Lucifer said unnervingly calm. “I was willing to forgive you. I would have even allowed you to keep your little pet.” He pointed at Aziraphale. “But now I will make you watch me burn him alive, then I will burn you alive, then I will set my son straight and then I will burn this worthless world.”

When Lucifer’s gaze fell on Aziraphale, Crowley did no longer think. He just acted. He snapped his fingers to teleport the bag he had left somewhere on the airfield into his hands. Reaching into the linen, he almost prayed, but then did not. Not only did God probably not want to help a demon, Crowley had the feeling that right now, She could not.

*

There are a few things to know about Excalibur. Aziraphale of course was right that it was a strong-willed weapon, made to be wielded by mighty humans to protect helpless humans. But what is also important to understand is that while Excalibur was quite stubborn and set in its ways, it could be flexible and reasonable under certain circumstances. And now the world was at stake, the whole of Humanity in mortal danger and no human fighter was available to wield it. So maybe, just maybe, a demon who was willing to risk his own safety to protect a witch, two witchfinders, a medium and four children, a demon, deeply in love with an angel and so very, very human in his selfish and selfless ways, would be enough today. 


	17. Battleground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned on chapter 17 to be the last one, but we all know how my plans regarding that turned out in the past. xD Seriously, again it got longer and I decided to split. That way I can give you at least something before Christmas AND I have some more time for the ending. I won't lie, that's the longest fanfiction I ever wrote and the prospect of the ending makes me nervous. I want to do it right.  
So thanks again for all your nice comments, support and patience. <3

Aziraphale could physically feel Lucifer’s eyes on him. The Fallen Archangel’s gaze burned and set every fiber of his being on high alert. But there was nowhere he could run and so he decided to stand his ground, hoping that it would give the humans time to flee.

But before the Morning Star could even think about attacking Aziraphale, there was small flash of light distracting them both. Aziraphale turned his head towards Crowley and saw what it had been. The afternoon sun was reflected by the steel blade of a familiar weapon, usually feisty and stubborn, but now lying in Crowley’s hand like it was made for him.

“Don’t even think about touching him, Lucifer,” Crowley growled, stepping between the Devil and Aziraphale.

Lucifer stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the weapon. There was a hint of trepidation but also something else. A certain fire that Aziraphale had seen in the eyes of humans. The sort of humans who never backed down from a challenge, even if there was a good chance it might kill them - or _especially_ then. Lucifer stretched his arm and opened his palm in a demanding gesture and reality obeyed.

The weapon appearing in Lucifer’s hand was a thing of terrifying beauty. An artful sword surrounded by Heavenly Light, almost like the day God had given it to her Firstborn, but now it was tainted by a thin tendril of black fog slithering through the Holy Flame that engulfed the blade. A mixture of fear and awe seized Aziraphale at the sight of Lucifer’s sword, but Crowley was not afraid. He readied himself and his own sword.

“I’d try telling you that this is a bad idea,” Lucifer said with a smile, so wide that it was bordering on manic. “But that never stopped you, did it?“

“Both of us were always very good at that whole bad idea thing, weren’t we, Lucifer?” Crowley gave back casually. “Why would it be any different now?”

“Hmmm,” Lucifer said thoughtfully. “Alright then. Let’s dance.”

That was the only warning Crowley got. At once Lucifer’s blade came driving towards the redhead’s upper body. Aziraphale did not even see Crowley move and yet Excalibur met the hostile weapon, blocking the blow with the distinctive noise of steel meeting steel. Surprise was written in the Morning Star’s face but replaced quickly with anger. With a quick turn of his wrist he swung his weapon around trying to hit Crowley from the other side, but again Crowley was too fast and positioned his sword between his body and the Devil’s blade.

Aziraphale watched in fascination. He felt a bit silly because he just stood there, his body a – in case of emergency useless – shield for Adam, while Crowley fought the Devil himself. But Crowley did not need his help. With ease he parried every vicious blow and even the slyest feints. At first Crowley did not attack. He stayed in a defensive position, tiring Lucifer out and allowing the Devil’s anger to grow.

Despite his worry for Crowley, Aziraphale turned away from the fight when he heard a faint sob behind him. He found Adam on his knees, hands hiding his eyes and crying. Immediately Aziraphale knelt beside him and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Mainly Aziraphale wanted to comfort him because he hated to see people cry, especially children. But there also was the tiny detail that he did not really know what would happen if the Antichrist had a nervous breakdown.

“Adam,” he spoke gently, now and then glancing around to make sure Crowley still did not need his help and the humans did nothing stupid. “Don’t cry. Crowley has got this. He will protect you.”

“But only from him,” Adam whispered pointing at Lucifer.

“Well, as far as I see it, he is the only threat right now, so…”

“No!” Adam shook his head. “I’m still here.”

“You?” Aziraphale asked incredulous. “Dear boy, you protected the world from the Horsemen.”

“That was Pepper, Brian and Wensleydale,” Adam said. “They fought.”

“I will not belittle your friends’ accomplishments. They were very brave,” Aziraphale commended. “But I dare say that it was you that turned their courage and kindness into a real force.”

“Maybe,” Adam shrugged. “But I felt him. Lucifer, I mean. All of his being, so much darkness, evil and hatred. And I’m like that!”

“What makes you think that?”

“School. Biology. It’s called DNA or something,” Adam explained. “Every kid is a mixture of its parents. Like when you mix yellow and blue you get green. But I have only one parent. Nothing to mix with. Mix blue with nothing and it stays blue. So Lucifer is evil and so am I.”

Aziraphale sighed. When all this was over, he had to make a list of literature for the boy to improve his currently quite simplified knowledge of genetics. For now it was more important to make the boy see himself in a better light.

“Lucifer was the first creation of God. One parent only, too,” he said. “And believe me, he is nothing like Her. He never was, but with time he moved away from Her even more. So to use your metaphor: Whatever his initial color was, he himself chose to throw in a lot of different shades and change it. What he is today, is a result of his decisions, not of what was given to him when he came to be.”

Adam rubbed his eyes and sniffed. Then he looked at Aziraphale.

“You think?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale nodded. “Like Death told you, it’s a human’s right to choose. But Lucifer took this right for himself, too, a long time ago. And while I do not think his choices were all wise and right, I do believe that it is important to choose one’s own fate. And you did. You stood up for your values, your friends and for the whole world. Now stand up for yourself, instead of seeing yourself as a monster.”

Adam bit his lip and nodded with determination.

“Yes!” he said, jumping to his feet. “I will! Do you think your friend over there needs help? I took Ninjutsu lessons once. I think I was great!”

Grabbing Adam’s shoulder again to make sure the boy would not try his martial arts skills on the Devil himself, Aziraphale turned to Crowley and Lucifer. They were still fighting and it seemed as if Lucifer grew angrier with every second. Crowley appeared careless and relaxed at first glance, but Aziraphale saw that he watched his opponent like a hawk. And when he recognized his chance, he took it. Fury and impatience had made Lucifer incautious. After another easily blocked attack against Crowley, the Morning Star cried out in rage and swung his sword again, too wide, leaving his own body too exposed.

Crowley just had to pull up his own weapon a bit to stop the blow. At the same time he lifted his right leg and sent a well-placed kick against Lucifer’s uncovered stomach. The combined force of these two collisions had Lucifer stumbling back a few steps, his sword out of the way for a moment. Wasting no time Crowley pursued him and with one swift move drove Excalibur’s blade into Lucifer’s chest. Lucifer gasped.

“Nevermind,” Adam said from behind Aziraphale. “He’s fine.”

*

Eyes wide in disbelief, the Fallen Archangel stared down at the blade disappearing into his upper body. Golden blood seeped out of the wound, running along the handle, tainting the white robe. Coughing Lucifer dropped to his knees. When he looked up to face Crowley, Crowley saw the fire in the Devil's eyes cease and for a moment they were again the black pearls of who Lucifer had been before: God’s first and most beautiful angel. Well, second most in Crowley’s opinion.

“You will regret this,” Lucifer breathed out before his eyes ran out of life.

Crowley had no time thinking about this threat as he saw Aziraphale and Adam rush towards him.

“Here,” he said to Adam with a grin, handing him Excalibur. “Hold my blade.”

After that Crowley accepted Aziraphale’s embrace. Unfortunately it was short because Aziraphale let go when he heard someone desperately pleading.

“Beelzebub,” Dagon begged. “Wake up! Please! We need to leave!”

Without hesitation Aziraphale walked towards the group of demons accompanied by Crowley’s incredulous look.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Crowley hissed and grabbed Aziraphale’s arm.

“She is hurt,” Aziraphale said empathetically. “I’m an angel. I can heal.”

“She is the Prince of Hell, angel,” Crowley stated sardonically. “She’ll be fine.”

“But _she _doesn’t seem fine,” Aziraphale gave back, pointing at Dagon who still kneeled beside Beelzebub, frantically trying to wake her, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Crowley sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “But I’m coming with you. Adam, go to your friends.”

He pointed at the kids and the adult humans who slowly dared coming closer again. Pepper, Brian and Wensleydale surrounded Adam, glad to have their friend back in one piece. Anathema gave Crowley a nod, signaling that she would keep an eye on the children. So Aziraphale and Crowley carefully approached Dagon, Asmodeus and the still unconscious Beelzebub. Dagon barely noticed them, Asmodeus was wary but not necessarily hostile.

Aziraphale cleared his throat so that Dagon would look at him.

“May I?” he asked, presenting his hands and then pointing at Beelzebub.

To Crowley’s surprise, Dagon nodded. She still held on to Beelzebub but allowed Aziraphale to kneel next to her and touch the Prince’s head. The angel’s hand started to glow in a friendly blue light and all present demons could feel the divine power being summoned.

“Why is it taking so long?” Dagon snapped after a while. “I’ve seen angels heal. It usually works faster.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” Aziraphale smiled friendly. “I have to adjust the miracle a bit. A demon’s corporation reacts differently to my powers. Plus, Lucifer got her pretty good.”

“Alright,” Dagon said. “Please hurry.”

“Don’t panic,” Crowley told her softly. “She is stable and Lucifer can’t hurt her anymore.”

Dagon scoffed.

“Are you naïve or just arrogant?” she growled at him and sighed immediately: “Don’t answer that.”

“What do you mean?”

“We are talking about the Devil himself,” she answered. “Yes, you surprised him, yes, you weakened him. But Lucifer always has an ace…” She pointed in Lucifer’s direction and froze. “Shit!”

The body was gone. It could not have happened too long ago since the humans were just catching up with Shadwell retrieving Dalrymple’s thundergun, the children heroically readying their toy weapons, except for Adam who at the moment had a quite impressive real weapon in his hand. Crowley watched with wide eyes how the boy raised the sword in his hand with unexpected strength.

The ground started to shake, almost knocking everyone standing over. Sounds similar of thunder rumbled through the air and in the middle of the airfield the ground started to crack.

“Angel?” Crowley asked. “Are there volcanos in England?”

“No, dear, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale laughed without humor, never stopping to treat Beelzebub. “I’m afraid, there is a less harmless explanation for this.“

When another earthquake shook the airbase, the humans clung to each other. But the moment the shaking ceased, they moved towards the supernatural beings hesitantly.

“What’s going on?” Newton asked.

“His father is coming back, in his true form, his satanic form,” Dagon answered.

“Satan himself, huh?” Shadwell scoffed and presented the thundergun. “He can try hurt Jezebel here, but he’ll have to get past me first!”

For a second Crowley wondered who Jezebel might be, but when Madame Tracy dreamy eyed leant against the old Witchfinder’s shoulder and sighed “Oh, Mr. Shadwell”, he knew.

Then Adam said something, barely above a whisper and not audibly above the cracking and thundering of Satan’s wrath.

“What was that, boy?” Crowley asked.

“I said,” Adam spoke louder and with venom and then he all but roared. “That he is not my father!”

“Well, technically…” Dagon began.

“He is NOT my father!” Adam yelled. “My father is the man who was there, who sat at my bed when I was sick, who read stories to me so I could sleep better, who gave me boring lectures when I made trouble and put bandaids on my knees when I scraped them.”

Adam raised Excalibur and stomped towards the middle of the airfield. At the same time Beelzebub awoke with a groan.

“What happened?” she asked, but before anyone could answer, Adam’s voice - now miraculously louder than the rumbling surrounding the airbase – echoed over the area.

“Do you hear me, you egocentric maniac?” he yelled. “You’re not my father!”

The roaring sounds grew louder and the earthquakes strengthened. Whoever might have believed in a natural cause of the occurrence, would have stopped thinking so now. For everyone to hear there were cries of rage and pain echoing in the thunder and even those without connection to the supernatural could feel the fury that shook the earth beneath them. The reverberation of the noises increased, the movement of the ground intensified, more and more, like a horrifying crescendo in a concert nobody wanted tickets for.

And then it stopped.

Confused everybody looked around, waiting for the terrible storm after the calm. But it never came.

“We’re safe for now. Dagon, Asmodeus, we’re leaving,” Beelzebub said but before she went through with it, she turned to Aziraphale, touching her no longer aching head. “I won’t forget that, angel.”

Then the delegation of Hell was gone.

Crowley turned his head and looked at Adam again. The boy stood were the ground had burst open but there was not a single crack in the concrete. Instead an old but well-kept car approached. It drove slowly and came to a halt in front of Adam. Behind the wheel sat a middle aged man with dark hair and a commendably groomed mustache.

Now Adam turned around so Crowley could see his face again. But the boy did not look back at him. He grinned broadly at his friends and called: “Pepper, Brian, Wensleydale, run! It’s my Dad! We’re in trouble!”

The three other kids returned the wide smile and took off. Within seconds they were on their bikes and pedaled away.

The man got out of his car and called Adam’s name to no avail. Sighing he approached the remaining people on the airfield. They seemed like normal human adults to him and at least human some of them were.

“Would somebody tell me what’s going on?”

Awkwardly everybody looked at each other and shrugged.

“Are you Adam’s father?” Aziraphale finally decided to counter with a question of his own.

“For my sins I am,” the man sighed. “What has he done now?”

“Long story,” Crowley said. “No time.”

“Actually, since the most pressing problem is solved, we _do_ have some time now,” Aziraphale stated. “You see, Mr. Young. In the beginning, in the garden…”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but could not help the fond smile. Especially when he saw how Aziraphale’s face lit up the moment Crowley appeared in the story.

*

London seemed fine. The humans living here went about their business like every day and somehow it was like every day because the Antichrist had pressed reality’s reset button. He even had brought back the humans who died in the shadow of the upcoming apocalypse. While Crowley could only check on London personally at the moment, the world wide news suggested that humanity was none the wiser. No mortal remembered anything that was out of the ordinary. Crowley and Aziraphale, however, did so the rest of Heaven and Hell probably did, too.

That was why Crowley hated to be separated from Aziraphale, but Aziraphale had convinced him to look after his cats and the plants while he himself checked on the bookshop because Aziraphale was sure that everything was just fine now. Still Crowley hurried to be reunited with Aziraphale as fast as possible. Checking on his flat, he found the thermos with the Holy Water refilled and the answering machine repaired but his weapon rack was empty. Adam’s reset of the world obviously was a bit arbitrary. The plants almost appeared to be offended when Crowley just growled at them shortly while watering them instead of given them a full rant. The cats did not care.

Crowley had just grabbed the car keys he would not need when he felt a familiar presence. Growling he turned around to fight the intruder, but immediately relaxed. Beelzebub’s posture and demeanor did not suggest that she was looking for a fight. Usually the soft, almost cute, features of her corporation stood in harsh contrast to her stern expression and her dominant attitude. Today, together with her tired look and the air of defeat surrounding her, they made her appear vulnerable. And young. She reminded Crowley of the Beelzebub he had seen directly after the Fall and he was almost tempted to call her by her God given name. Almost. Because just like back then, underneath the brokenness there still was that spark. There was fight left in her, but it was not directed at Crowley and he had no wish to change that.

“Lord Beelzebub,” he greeted with a nod. “To what do I…”

“Don’t act like you have manners, Crowley,” she sighed and got straight to the point. “Do you still feel him? Have you heard of him?”

“Lucifer? No.” Crowley shook his head. “Maybe the boy really…?”

He stopped himself. Adam was powerful, but to think he had actually destroyed the second oldest being in the universe, the first to ever be created, seemed crazy. Then again Crowley himself had stabbed Lucifer’s corporation with one of the most powerful weapons in existence and Adam had taken a big part of the Devil’s identity – that of being the father of the Antichrist – away from him while he was in the process of taking on his Satanic form.

“He is at least notably weakened,” Beelzebub voiced Crowley’s thoughts. “Probably hiding.”

Crowley nodded and after that both demons stood silently, not looking at each other.

“I’m pissed, Crowley,” Beelzebub finally said after a while. “Truly, completely and utterly pissed at you. You lied to us, you worked against us behind our back, you conspired with a fucking angel for Sat… Go… for Someone’s sake.”

Forcing himself to stay relaxed, Crowley carefully observed her. She was angry, but still showed no sign of wanting to attack.

“But,” she said, with an annoyed expression. “You saved us all from becoming cannon fodder in Lucifer’s ‘Great Plan’.” She gulped, visibly fighting unwanted emotions. “I, like all of us, thought we were still fighting for our original cause. But he did not even care about that anymore.”

“Not sure if he ever did,” Crowley said pensively.

“Oh, please don’t go there,” Beezlebub said and it almost sounded like a plea. “To think that… from the beginning this was just him wanting to get back at God for favoring the humans and we were just pawns for him while we foolishly thought we were freedom fighters... No, it doesn’t bear thinking about…”

“So, you’re not here to rip out my throat?” Crowley smirked.

“Don’t tempt me, serpent,” she grumbled. “But no. I _should_ kill you for treason, yes. But I should probably also thank you for saving us from getting killed in a War that was not ours. Let’s balance this out by me doing nothing, okay?”

“Works for me,” Crowley shrugged. “How are things in Hell?”

“Complicated,” she sighed. “I told everyone that Lucifer lied to us, that he did not care about the revolution. That this was just revenge for him. That we were just a means to an end for him. That he doesn’t care.”

“And?”

“Well, Dagon and Asmodeus were there, too, so I had two well-respected demons as my witnesses,” Beelzebub said. “Most of our people believed me and – for now – seem willing to follow me.”

“Most of them?”

“Some left,” she admitted. “Hastur for example didn’t want to accept it. His main issue was that you of all people uncovered Lucifer’s betrayal, I think.”

“Ha-Hastur?”

“Oh yes, he and Ligur are back. Pinged on Dagon’s radar all of a sudden,” she said. “Funny thing is, they don’t recall anything that happened yesterday – like all the humans.”

“Huh,” Crowley said, hoping it sounded like astonishment not relief.

“It was sort of funny,” she chuckled a bit. “Hastur was so convinced that he hadn’t been to Megiddo yet that we needed to bring him 12 different newspapers so he would believe us that yesterday was… well, _should _have been apocalypse time.”

“What now?”

“I don’t know,” Beelzebub confessed. “I’ll try to keep things running. Most demons still are loyal to me. Guess it helps that I was there all the time while Lucifer was in his chambers mostly, doing… whatever it is that he was doing. But some left us to look for Lucifer, including Hastur and Ligur. Oh, that reminds me. Dagon sends this!”

With a snap of her fingers a huge black box appeared on Crowley’s kitchen counter.

“What’s this?” he asked suspiciously. “Bomb? Anthrax? Best of ABBA albums?”

Beelzebub laughed.

“Don’t worry,” she said with a grin. “Dagon’s confused. She trusted you, you know? Maybe she even liked you – or didn’t hate you as much as she should. She isn’t out for blood. Not her style anyway.”

Talking about Dagon, Beelzebub relaxed visibly. A fond smile played along her lips for a second while she stared in the distance.

“Well, I’ll open it later, I think,” Crowley said. Maybe whatever was in there would not kill him, but he wanted to visit Aziraphale soon and really did not need to be attacked by a demonic skunk right now.

“As you wish”, Beelzebub shrugged. After a moment of silence she asked: “Will you… come home?”

Crowley looked into her aquamarine eyes and was surprised to find a hint of concern there.

“I think I _am_ home,” he told her.

“I see.” She nodded. Then she raised her hand to snap her fingers but halted to address Crowley one last time. “I’ll keep those that are loyal to me away from you and the angel you’re so fond of, but I can’t make any promises for Hastur and those who followed him.”

“I understand,” Crowley said.

Then she was gone.

Too curious to wait, Crowley carefully opened the box from Dagon and was surprised to find the Celestial Claymore in there. Next to it lay a note.

_Not all demons are loyal to Beelzebub and since you – despite your charming attitude – perhaps have one or two enemies among the renegades, I thought you may have use for it. The stupid thing and its gross aura are making my skin itch anyway. Hope it gives you rashes._

With a smirk Crowley put the weapon were it belonged. Before he finally went to see Aziraphale, he miracled the box back to Dagon.

When the Lord of the Files opened it, she found a short note.

_I’ll miss you, too._


	18. Endings and Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is. The final chapter of „Whatever you need“. Funfact: This chapter contains the scene that started all this. A little idea I planned to do in 3 or 4 chapters. To quote our favorite angel: „I got carried away.“  
Thanks to everybody who kept me motivated with comments and kudos, especially those of you who commented on several or even ALL chapters. It meant so much and kept me going!  
I really hope you like the ending I wrote!

_ “Stop worrying, dear. You take care of your apartment, I need to check on the bookshop. While I appreciate that Adam’s reality reset removed the cocoa stains from the couch, I have the feeling the little rascal messed with my inventory.”_

_“I don’t know, angel, I’d rather stay with you.”_

_“Everything should be fine now.”_

_“But…”_

_“Off you go…”_

Aziraphale sighed as he recalled his last conversation with Crowley. Despite his entire being screaming to be with Crowley, he had sent him away. And against all odds Crowley had listened. While in fact everything _should_ have been fine, he was not sure if it really _was_. He had sensed Gabriel’s presence in London and even though he was not in the bookshop’s proximity, Aziraphale knew that the Archangel could travel fast if he wanted. So with the prospect of Gabriel’s visit he wanted Crowley out of the way. Whatever Gabriel wanted would go way smoother without a demon’s presence. The last thing Aziraphale needed was for Crowley to get hurt by fighting Gabriel. Sure the demon had shown impressive skills against Lucifer, but the poor thing sure was exhausted and no longer armed with a powerful sword.[19]

Deciding to act like the day was as normal as the humans thought it was, Aziraphale started taking stock. To his great relief the boy had only made some additions to Aziraphale’s collection but had not removed anything else. A normal shopkeeper might have needed hours if not days to know for sure, but Aziraphale was no normal shopkeeper and he would sense if one or more of his precious books would be missing. Still he was determined to check his inventory the human way, mostly because he loved doing the inventory since it meant spending a lot of time with his wares without any risk of customers buying one of them. Because as every reasonable shopkeeper he of course closed his shop for stocktaking!

When, despite the locked door, Aziraphale heard footsteps an hour later but not Crowley’s voice, he knew he had been right. He straightened himself, displaying confidence he did not feel and left the shelf he was cataloguing to step into the shop’s entrance area.

To no surprise the muscular figure of the Archangel Gabriel stood there. The wide smile did nothing to hide his distress. His hair – while not exactly messy – lacked the usual perfect wave, a charm had been used to conceal the dark rings under his eyes and the typical poise was just as faked as Aziraphale’s own self-assured manner.

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel greeted friendly and his smile broadened even more. “How are you? I’m so glad those demons didn’t hurt you.”

It was a weird feeling that rushed through Aziraphale. There was this angelic part of him who felt warmth at the words of his comrade because he knew in his heart that they were true. But there was also this part of him who had spent too much time with Crowley to have any use for mere lip services that were not accompanied by real action.

“That’s nice of you to say,” Aziraphale answered, only a touch of sarcasm in his voice, not enough for Gabriel to notice. “You could – of course – have stayed and make sure of it.”

Gabriel reacted with a confused look.

“Ehm, no,” he said. “The Metatron wanted us to return home and confer. Don’t you remember?”

Looking into Gabriel’s serious face, Aziraphale felt his irritation fade and sympathy taking its place. When Metatron, an angel outranking Gabriel, had given Gabriel and Michael the order to leave, it had not even occurred to the Archangel that staying was an option. Actually it probably had been hard for him to waste a few seconds on asking Aziraphale to come, too. It was not Gabriel’s fault since choosing was nothing angels usually did. One more reminder for Aziraphale of the gap between Heaven and himself. The angel suppressed a humorless laugh at that.

“Let’s agree to disagree on what you could or couldn’t have done,” he offered. “What brings you here?”

“What a question!” Gabriel laughed. “Getting you home, of course!”

Aziraphale’s face fell and he felt panic rising in his chest. Even though Gabriel made no move to force him, the Archangel definitely could make Aziraphale come with him, should he refuse to come willingly.

“I _am_ already home, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said firmly, trying to hide his apprehension.

“What? Oh, don’t worry,” Gabriel said. “I didn’t really get it before, but I know now how fond you are of all these books and the other material objects. Of course you are allowed to bring them all with you. I made sure your new quarters are big enough for all your things. And you can work in Heaven’s library, if you want.”

Gabriel’s chest swelled with pride when he told Aziraphale how he had removed all the obstacles for the principality’s happy return. At least all obstacles Gabriel was able to see.

“I appreciate your efforts, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said politely. “But I really want to stay on Earth.”

“You needn’t worry about that either,” the Archangel hurried to say. “I know you’re worried about the humans – you take your duties seriously! But the Metatron assured me that they will be safe. Now that we know that Lucifer was behind all that, we won’t allow Hell to destroy Earth.”

“That is good to hear,” said Aziraphale and he meant it. “But I… I love this place. I feel at home here. On Earth. With the humans. I’m sorry, Gabriel, but I want to stay.”

“But…”

“You are stronger than I am, Gabriel,” Aziraphale sighed. “You can force me back to Heaven – and you will have to if you insist I come, because I will not follow you willingly.”

An inscrutable expression spread across Gabriel’s face. If Aziraphale had not known better, he would have classified it as sadness. Maybe it was just disappointment.

“I will not force you, Aziraphale,” he said after a few seconds of silence. “I don’t want to and I’m not allowed to.”

“Not… allowed? I don’t understand.”

“We went to check on the boy. Adam,” Gabriel explained. “To make sure he is no threat.”

“And?”

“Well, he doesn’t seem to have any apocalyptic ambitions,” the Archangel shrugged. “But before we left, Adam demanded that you and that… demon are to be left alone. And the Metatron decided it would be best to oblige.”

“Adam said that?” Aziraphale asked surprised.

“Erm, yes,” Gabriel answered, his look suggesting that he tried to recall the conversation. “Something like ‘nobody should have to be in a gang he doesn’t want to be in’? He is a strange kid….”

“Ah, I see,” Aziraphale said simply, but then he frowned. “And still you’re here.”

Gabriel smiled a little sheepishly.

“Well, I assumed that Adam would not mind me checking whether you _wanted _to be left alone,” he defended himself. “I mean, I have to make sure you really don’t want to be in ‘our gang’ anymore, right? And I also thought it could not hurt to give you a few reasons to come home.”

“The books, the new quarters and the library,” Aziraphale said.

“Yes.” Gabriel looked to the floor, appearing a bit lost. “You are one of us, after all. I mean, you were. Can be again, if you want.”

Aziraphale smiled. Maybe Gabriel was able to make choices of his own after all. Baby steps.

“I appreciate it,” Aziraphale repeated. “But…”

All of a sudden Gabriel closed the distance between them. Aziraphale yelped in surprise when the Archangel took his cheeks in his hands.

“Look,” Gabriel said with an almost frantic look in his eyes. “I know what Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon did to you. They will have to answer to me and to Her for that. They will apologize and never do that again. I can help you, Aziraphale! Come home and from now on I will protect you! You will no longer need that demon to do that!”

For a moment Aziraphale was stunned to silence.

“How…” he finally managed to press out while Gabriel still squeezed his cheeks.

“When the others confessed what they had done, they told me that a demon came to your aid, the same one that was in Tadfield,” the Archangel explained. “And then Michael said that someone in the observation center had pictures of you and him.”

“Oh…”

“I don’t blame you,” Gabriel said quickly. “This is my fault! I should have taken better care of you, listened to you and trusted your judgement. My lack of attention left a need inside you. It’s understandable you needed someone to take care of you. But I’ll be here for you now.”

With effort Aziraphale kept himself from rolling his eyes. It was a bit insulting, but a certain amount of egocentricity was to be expected from Gabriel. So of course he turned Aziraphale’s relationship with Crowley into a consequence of his failures. Aziraphale just wanted to tell the Archangel not to make everything about himself, when he felt another familiar presence in the shop. Before he could react, a low growl sounded from behind Gabriel and only a fracture of a second later the Archangel was grabbed by the arm and pulled away from Aziraphale.

Crowley now stood between Aziraphale and Gabriel. His posture was relaxed, his eyes hidden behind his dark glasses, the rest of his face in a neutral expression, but Aziraphale could feel the air sizzling with the demon’s rage. He was only outwardly calm, inside Crowley was seething and Aziraphale knew. So he put a soothing hand on the demon’s shoulder. Crowley tensed for a second but relaxed afterward.

“Don’t worry about Aziraphale, Gabriel,” he said coldly. “I got this. I got this for millennia now.”

Gabriel’s nostrils flared but he, too, remained calm.

“Well,” he smiled overly polite. “You’ll have to admit that an angel is much better suited to take care of an angel.”

“I don’t think I have to admit that.”

“What I mean is…”

“Oh, I know what you mean,” Crowley pressed out between gritted teeth, the fragile patience fissuring. “But I disagree. Aziraphale won’t be going with you. He’ll stay here with…, ehm…, on Earth. And trying to change his mind will only waste your time and his.”

Gabriel cleared his throat. He visibly struggled holding Crowley’s stare and was glad to find an excuse to look at Aziraphale instead.

“I believe this is Aziraphale’s decision,” he spoke, casting the principality an inquiring look.

Crowley whipped his head around and searched Aziraphale’s eyes, too. The angel swallowed as he was confronted with Crowley’s gold blazing gaze.

“Yes, I think it is,” the demon agreed. His tone was demanding as ever, but there was a hint of vulnerability lying hidden underneath the dominant demeanor. 

Aziraphale gave Crowley a soft smile and squeezed his shoulder. Then he turned to Gabriel and spoke politely but decidedly: “Crowley is right, Gabriel. I thank you for your generous offer, but I decline. I will stay here.”

“With him?” Gabriel asked toneless, pointing at Crowley.

“As far as I know, he plans on staying here, too, yes,” Aziraphale answered and turned to Crowley. “Weren’t you, dear?”

“You bet.” Crowley crossed his arms in front of his chest and smirked at the Archangel whose face was now bare of any emotion.

“I understand.” Gabriel nodded one last time in Aziraphale’s direction, pointedly ignoring Crowley. Then he was gone.

Releasing his breath he had not known to be holding, Aziraphale let himself fall against one of his bookshelves. Relief flooded him. But before he could share this with his companion, he felt himself being pressed against the wooden shelf behind him. Hot and hungry lips sealed his own and a forked tongue greedily flicked across his mouth.

Taken by surprise, Aziraphale complied. An obedience born out of an age old instinct to please Crowley. Sighing he parted his lips and let Crowley’s tongue in to claim. His body became pliant and all but fell into the demon’s strong arms as the long and dexterous fingers dug into his flesh.

After a while Crowley broke the kiss and grabbed Aziraphale’s chin.

“What business did this prick have touching you?” he hissed.

“Huh?” It took Aziraphale a moment to collect himself. “Oh, you mean Gabriel? I don’t know. I suppose he tried to emphasize his point?”

“His point?” Crowley mocked. “What stupid point needs his dirty hands on you?”

“I think he thought this was reassuring,” Aziraphale chuckled lightly. “You have to understand, he is…”

Crowley pressed Aziraphale harder against the shelf and growled.

“No, I don’t,” he said darkly. “I don’t have to understand the arrogant bastard touching you and you won’t let him or anyone touch you ever again. Understood?”

Aziraphale nodded, knowing what was about to come. Sure enough Crowley grabbed his wrist and dragged him through the bookshop and up the stairs. He maneuvered the angel towards the bedroom and miracled their clothes from their bodies to the armchair in the corner.

Soon Aziraphale was on his back, Crowley lying above him, kissing him deeply. It wasn’t until the demon circled his arms around him, that suddenly the events of the last days came crushing down on him. He tried to push back the panic rising up in his chest but failed. Without being able to stop himself, he started shaking in Crowley’s embrace, causing the demon to break the kiss.

“Aziraphale? What’s wrong?” Worried Crowley sat up, pulling the trembling angel with him.

“I’m terribly sorry, dear,” Aziraphale managed to say. “I just realized everything that happened. How the world almost ended. How I almost lost you.”

“Oh, Angel…,”

“I know, I know.” Aziraphale faked a laugh. “Everything turned out fine. I’m being rather silly.”

He cursed himself and his stupid corporation that would not stop shaking. Finally Crowley and he were alone and free to do what they pleased, and he ruined the moment. The last thing he wanted was to disappoint Crowley, but he could not help his body‘s reaction.

He wanted to apologize, tell Crowley that he just needed a moment and they could get on with it. But then he found himself being lowered back down to the mattress, Crowley was again above him, his expression soft and his voice soothing.

“You’re not silly, angel. Never,” the demon purred. “It happens that panic comes delayed. You were so brave and smart. You did so well even though everything went wrong.”

“You… you think?”

“Yes,” Crowley nodded and started to kiss a line from the angel’s shoulders up to his ear. In between nibbles on the sensitive lobe he kept praising him. “How you got the Bentley to drive you, how you dealt with the fire ring and convinced the witch to help you. So clever.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed under the demon’s ministrations.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” Crowley now caressed the angel’s neck and made his way along the broad chest down to the slight curve of the belly. “You just wanted to save me. My brave little angel.”

When Crowley dipped his split tongue into Aziraphale’s navel, the angel arched his back and whimpered. Smirking Crowley pushed him back down gently.

“Relax, angel,” he said. “I got you. You’re safe now. You’ll always be safe with me.”

Then Crowley slithered back up Aziraphale’s body and met him face to face.

“You know that right?” he asked. “That you’re safe with me?”

Aziraphale nodded without hesitation.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Please… please take care of me.”

“I fully intend to,” Crowley smiled.

And he did. There was no roughness, not even teasing. Very carefully he circled his large hands around Aziraphale’s wrists and placed his hands at the headboard.

“Leave them there,” he ordered but did not secure them.

Then he kissed Aziraphale again. Sweet, almost chaste at first, patiently waiting for the angel to part his lips. When allowed entrance, he softly explored his lover’s mouth while his hands slowly roamed along Aziraphale’s soft body.

Aziraphale was not sure at which point he had stopped shaking from delayed panic, but he knew that now he was trembling because of Crowley who knew his body better than he did himself. The demon’s lips were licking and biting tenderly at his neck again while his clever fingers had found their way between the angel’s legs. Crowley stroke along the outer labia, but did not make Aziraphale wait. He dipped one finger in the wet heat between the vulva’s lips, wandering up towards the clit. His longer fingers allowed him to gently circle around it while slowly pushing his index finger into the angel’s tight but already wet channel. Softly he laughed at the surprised sound Aziraphale made and at the searching movements of his hips. But he never ceased in his ministrations and before Aziraphale knew it, he was coming on the demon’s fingers with a cry.

Crowley worked him through it and kept kissing his neck and shoulders while the angel caught his breath. Aziraphale felt lightheaded and lighthearted, but it was not enough. He wanted Crowley close.

“I need you,” he said, moving against the demon’s body.

“Shhh, Angel,” Crowley whispered with a smile. “Some patience, please.”

But Aziraphale noticed the demon’s erection poking into his upper leg and so he began moving slowly against it, soon feeling the first drops of precum on his skin. Crowley kept up his kisses, but Aziraphale could feel the demon’s body tense up. And after one particularly sensual move of Aziraphale’s leg, Crowley froze and moaned loudly, rubbing his member against the angel’s soft flesh.

“Shhh, Demon,” Aziraphale teased. “Some patience, please.”

Another dark chuckle sounded from Crowley’s throat.

“Nice try,” he commended. “But you can’t beat me at my own game since I make the rules. As a demon a virtue like patience is not my department. But you as an angel should practice that.”

“Well, I’m not a very good angel, am I?” Aziraphale whispered back.

With demonic speed Crowley changed their position. He was no longer pressing against Aziraphale’s side, but hovering above him. His slender legs pressed the angel’s thick thighs apart while his strong hands grabbed Aziraphale’s wrists.

“You are,” he said firmly, his golden eyes almost glowing. “You are the best of them and they can only pray that God will never decide to make you the standard because none of them will be allowed to call themselves ‘angel’ then.”

“Crowley, you are very…,”

A passionate but tender kiss interrupted Aziraphale and he could not help smiling a bit.

“No, I’m not,” Crowley growled but with an amused expression as well. “I’m just being honest here. You’re a good angel. The perfect angel. And you’re mine. Right?”

“Right.”

“Good.”

Crowley hard cock found its way between the angel’s wet folds and the head teased at the entrance. Aziraphale closed his eyes in anticipation.

“May I?” he heard Crowley ask.

Frantically Aziraphale nodded and with a soft chuckle Crowley pushed in. He took his time and after long seconds, when he was finally fully sheathed, he started to thrust carefully. He leaned down to whisper sweet nothings into the angel’s ear, telling him how beautiful he was and how good it felt to be inside him. Aziraphale reveled in the words and clung to his lover like he was a lifeboat. Feeling another climax rising, the angel wanted to wait for the demon to come with him this time. Crowley still moved at a low pace, but Aziraphale could already see the familiar scales appear along his shoulders and biceps. His irises were all gold with wide blown pupils, like black holes surrounded by rings of fire. It was not like their typical encounters, but even though Crowley’s movements lacked their usual roughness, the familiar glint in his eyes was there sure enough. The trembling of Crowley’s body showed that it became harder for him to keep the movements gentle and his greedy moans grew louder with every thrust.

“You can let go, dear,” Aziraphale whispered breathlessly. “Please, I want you to. Just take me.”

At these words the demon’s hips started to stutter in their motions, but he bit his lip and tried to control himself.

“Please,” Aziraphale repeated. “I’m yours. Take your pleasure from me.”

This time he emphasized his words by making his inner walls clench around the demon’s cock. That did it. Whatever control Crowley had a second ago, was lost now. He groaned loudly, his black wings burst out, knocking over the lamp on the nightstand, and he started to thrust hard and fast. Even though he had wanted to accomplish just that, Aziraphale was taken by surprise. The unexpected assault against the sweet spot inside his vagina forced a cry of lust out of his throat and he reached his second orgasm within seconds, the pulsating of his walls taking the demon over the edge with him. Crowley drove down and the harsh bite at Aziraphale’s neck and the hand tangling in his hair reminded the angel of the demon’s possessive nature. And he did not mind it one bit. Crowley being possessive proved that he deemed Aziraphale something worth possessing. At least for now.

*

With a tender smile Crowley looked down at the sleeping angel. Sighing quietly, he carefully got up and began dressing himself. He could have used a miracle to do so, but he was so deep in thought, that it did not occur to him and so he did it the human way. What now? Armageddon was averted, Heaven and Hell were off their backs and Aziraphale and he would return to their lives among the humans. As for the two of them… Maybe that was a question for another day.

He had just finished buttoning his shirt and wanted to grab his pants when he heard a whisper. It was so soft, that he probably would not even have caught it, if he had not trained his ears on hearing this specific word.

“Eastgate,” murmured Aziraphale and Crowley was by the angel’s side within the blink of an eye.

Aziraphale lay facing away from Crowley, but the demon tenderly grabbed his shoulders and turned him around. It was well after midnight and the lamp was broken, but still Crowley could perfectly see the angel’s face. It was like Aziraphale’s eyes caught the moonlight and reflected it just for Crowley. Lost in the deep blue gaze it took the demon a moment to realize that there was no need for his lover to say the word right now.

“Angel?” he asked with a frown.

Aziraphale worried his bottom lip between his teeth and looked away, but Crowley gently grabbed his chin and forced the angel to face him again.

“Are you hurt?” he inquired further and when Aziraphale shook his head, Crowley asked: “Why did you use your word?”

Nervously Aziraphale started wringing his hands.

“Back then, when you gave me the word,” he explained hesitantly. “You said, you’ll stop whatever you’re doing when I use it.”

Softly Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s cheek.

“But, Aziraphale,” he said with a confused smile. “I wasn’t doing anything to you. I wasn’t even touching you. I was just about to…” Crowley halted midsentence and took in his angel’s longing expression. “…leave.”

For a moment they just stared at each other. Then Crowley leaned down to press a chaste kiss on Aziraphale’s lips.

“Please stay, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered when the demon pulled away.

Crowley nodded, got rid of his shirt and slid under the covers to take Aziraphale into his arms. A few seconds later he felt Aziraphale’s hand wander along his chest, moving downward. Surprised he looked at the angel.

“Do you want me to…?” Aziraphale asked quietly, not meeting Crowley’s eyes.

It almost broke the demon’s heart. Aziraphale was tired, worn out and just in need of rest. And still he felt like he had to offer something to Crowley so he would stay with him. Crowley would have a lot to explain and a lot to make up for. But now they both had to find some rest.

So before his traitorous body could react to Aziraphale’s touch and the implications of his words, Crowley tenderly took the wandering hand in his own, brought it to his lips and kissed it gently.

“Not now, angel,” he said. “You already pleased me so much tonight. Let’s just sleep. We’ll have all the time in the world for everything else. Alright?”

“Alright,” Aziraphale mumbled and buried his face in Crowley’s neck. Soon the tension left the divine body and Crowley felt Aziraphale’s breathing even out. Satisfied Crowley brushed his lips over his angel’s forehead and allowed sleep to take him as well.

When the blond curls of the angel tickled Crowley awake, the sun was rising and fell in warm streams on Aziraphale’s bed. The angel in his arms was still fast asleep and so Crowley carefully wound himself out of the embrace. With a miracle he got dressed and went to prepare breakfast.  
When he proudly carried the tray around the corner and as quiet as possible entered the bedroom, he found Aziraphale wrapped in a dressing gown, staring out of the window with his shoulders slumped.

“Angel?” Crowley asked worriedly.

But as soon as Aziraphale heard his voice, he spun around, his whole demeanor changing. He beamed at Crowley and pointed at the tray.

“You got breakfast,” he stated unnecessarily while trying to wipe his eyes without the demon noticing.

“Ehm, yes, what…” Crowley started but bit his lip immediately and said: “You thought I left.”

Aziraphale blushed and nodded.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Sorry, dear, I’m still a little tense. I overreacted. I mean, even if you had left, I shouldn’t be upset. You can do what you want, you owe me nothing, you probably have a lot of things to do… and so have I, so… and I’m rambling again.”

“Yes, you are,” Crowley chuckled and carefully set down the tray. “But it’s okay. And please don’t apologize. It’s my fault that you think I would leave without a word. It’s my fault that you think I owe you nothing. Both is wrong, by the way.”

“It is?”

“Yes. I will never leave you again, if you’ll have me, that is. And I owe you everything I am today.” Crowley said. “I should have done much more to show all that to you.”

“What you told me at the bandstand…” Aziraphale fiddled nervously with his gown’s belt.

“Yes?”

“What has changed? Since, well, before?”

“Nothing has changed, Angel,” Crowley said.

“Oh. I understand,” Aziraphale sighed, his face falling and Crowley noticed his mistake.

“Wait, no, no, no, no, no!” he exclaimed rushing over to Aziraphale. Cupping the angel’s cheek, Crowley smiled tenderly. When Aziraphale did not pull away, Crowley continued: “What I mean is, nothing has changed because what I said at the bandstand was true before I said it. It was even true before I knew it.”

“So you…” Aziraphale started carefully but then bit his lip.

“I love you, yes,” Crowley finished the sentence. “I have for centuries, if not millennia, but I didn’t realize because love is not a feeling I am familiar with. Not exactly a demon’s specialty.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered and leaned into the demon’s touch even more.

“And I’m so sorry that I hurt you,” the demon went on. “How I treated you was… not fair. All these feelings I couldn’t name confused me. All I knew was that I wanted you for myself, but didn’t know… and…”

Crowley took a deep breath to calm himself. Aziraphale had not pushed him away which hopefully was a good sign. But if he kept making excuses for past mistakes instead of doing things right in the here and now, it would lead him nowhere.

“I love you,” Crowley said. “And I can only hope that I haven’t lost you and you’ll give me a chance to love you properly now.”

Aziraphale’s smile was blinding. He threw his arms around the demon’s neck and pulled him close.

“You couldn’t lose me if you tried, silly serpent,” he said. “I told you, I’m yours. You have all of me.”

Crowley circled his arms around the angel and smiled into the blond curls.

“And I intend to keep you.”

*

Two months later Aziraphale and Crowley sat on their favorite bench in St. James Park. The angel had his head leaning against the demon’s shoulder who had one arm circled around him. They enjoyed the last sunnier days of autumn before winter would confine them to more indoor activities neither of them would mind.

Heaven and Hell had left them alone[20] and the traces of the almost apocalypse were gone and almost forgotten. Aziraphale and Crowley spent most of their time together and were determined to enjoy the peace as long as it lasted.

Crowley’s phone rang. He looked at the screen, sighed and accepted the call, putting it on speaker for Aziraphale to listen.

“Bookgirl!” he greeted enthusiastically, grinning at Aziraphale’s admonishing look.

“That’s not my name,” Anathema said on the other side of the line.

“I know,” Crowley smirked. “Would be a rather stupid name, wouldn’t it?”

“Whatever,” she sighed. “Look, I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s Newt’s problem,” Crowley said. “I have my own thinker here.”

He tipped his finger against the angel’s nose and earned himself a slap against his chest.

“Don’t mind him, dear,” Aziraphale said to Anathema. “What is it?”

“I’m worried,” she admitted. “I’ve been doing some research about Lucifer. I don’t think it’s really possible to kill him. What if he comes back?”

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other and somehow knew that they were thinking the same. They were thinking about Earth and what it had to offer. A stubborn, clever and powerful witch, an IT-expert that could break even the most stable of computers, an old but determined Witchfinder with a thundergun, a streetsmart medium with a heart of gold, a boy, half-demon, half-angel and all human with a mighty magical longsword, his loyal and smart friends and last but not least a bastard angel and demon with a spark of goodness.

Smiling they turned to the phone to answer Anathema’s question.

“Let him come.”

The End

[19] Crowley had tried to take Excalibur back, but the Sword had made it pretty clear that it wanted to stay with Adam. Astonishing how much emotion and information could be expressed with one electric impulse.

[20] If one did not count one visit from Aziraphale’s successor who had been assigned rather spontaneous without his knowledge on Earth being updated. Fortunately on the day of his arrival a Medieval Festival took place and the humans thought him to be an enthusiast. Aziraphale had provided him with the basic knowledge he needed and sent him off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read "Whatever you need". Thanks to those who left kudos and comments along the way. I really appreciate all of you!
> 
> In case you are on discord: There is a nice little server I am on that I'd love seeing come to life again. It's for the Good Omens fans that are into Bottom!Aziraphale and we can discuss stories, art and headcanons. Maybe drop by? :)  
https://discord.gg/CtDxUGE


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